The Night of the Shifting Sands of Time
by California gal
Summary: Jim West encounters an old enemy, Dr. Loveless, and a new one, Artemus Gordon, in a past that's not as he remembered it.


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THE NIGHT OF THE SHIFTING SANDS OF TIME

By California gal

He lay flat on his stomach, keeping his head low, hat laying beside him in the brush. This was not a good situation. He was in enemy territory, with Reb soldiers swarming all around him. Even worse was the fact that he was out of uniform. If caught, the severest penalty could be

__

Wait a minute! What the hell?

James West stared about him, forgetting all caution for the moment as he lifted his head. He saw and heard the men in butternut uniforms crashing through the brush all around him. They were seeking him. But why? How? The war had been over for years. What?

__

Loveless!

"Got you, damn Yankee! Don't make no wrong move or I'll be happy to run this bayonet through your bluebelly guts!"

Jim looked around. A bearded man attired in faded blue trousers and nearly colorless flannel shirt was standing above him, the bayonet of his weapon poised over Jim's back, as warned.

"Is this some sort of game?" Jim asked, carefully getting to his knees.

"You're damn right it is," another man snarled, coming toward him, rifle butt at his shoulder, pointing his weapon straight at Jim's head. "And you're it.' On your feet, Yank. The general warned us a spy would be in the area, and we damn sure caught one. You're gonna be dancing from a rope afore long."

Within moments every gray-clad man who had been in the area had congregated around the prisoner, all with weapons ready. One wearing a sergeant's stripes on a much repaired tunic stood in front of Jim West, looking him up and down. "So this is the famous Captain West we've heard about. Don't look like much, does he, boys?"

The first man who had accosted Jim spoke up. "Don't forget to tell the colonel who caught him!"

"All right, all right, Perkins. You'll get your medal. Tie his hands. The general said he's a slippery devil."

"Sergeant," Jim spoke quietly and carefully, "you know this isn't real, don't you? You're all a figment of Loveless's imagination"

The back of the sergeant's hand cracked across Jim West's mouth, sending him staggering backwards against the men who had moved up to follow the order to bind his hands. "You keep your filthy mouth shut, you dirty Yankee bastard! Don't you mention our general's name. You ain't fit to lick his boots!"

The blood tasted real. The sting on his mouth sure was real. Jim West looked around as his wrists were lashed behind his back. Virginia, he guessed. Did he dare ask the date? _Better keep my mouth shut for the time being._ _Hard to say what Loveless has in mind here. What did he do with Artie?_

Jim West and his partner had been traveling in the parlor car on the special train, heading east after completing an assignment in Wyoming, looking forward to a little rest and relaxation before the next job. Grant had said he would try to arrange that for them. The President knew they had been working nonstop for weeks, and not only that, had been involved in a couple of stressful, very dangerous situations.

When the train slowed unexpectedly somewhere in Nebraska, Artie had gone to look out a window. "I don't see anything," he reported. As the car came to a halt, he went to the cupboard which housed the communications device to the engine. He blew in the tube. "Orrin, what's going on?"

Jim had seen his partner's eyes widen in astonishment as he placed the tube to his ear to listen. Slowly, Artemus lowered the instrument. "Loveless," he said.

That single word had caused Jim West to leap to his feet, heading for the weapons room, halting only when his partner urgently called his name. "Jim, he's got the engine. Either we come out, unarmed, or he'll blow it up with the boys inside."

They knew Miguelito Loveless too well to doubt that the demented but brilliant little man would carry out such a threat. Through the windows, armed horsemen were now in view. Too many to attempt to drive off by themselves.

So the two agents stepped out onto the rear platform, hands in the air. A bulky wagon approached from the direction of the engine, Loveless on the seat alongside a burly bearded man who was handling the reins.

"Greetings, my dear friends," Loveless called. "I'm so glad you have decided to help me."

"Help you?" Jim asked, glancing at his equally baffled partner.

"I knew you would be interested in participating in a scientific experiment," Loveless beamed. "Especially Mr. Gordon. This will fascinate you."

"I'm sure," Artemus responded sardonically. "What's the experiment? To see how long we can hold our hands in the air before all the blood drains from our fingers?"

Loveless chortled. "You do have a wit, Mr. Gordon. I'll have to remember that one. Please climb into my chariot. I'll tell you all about it when we get home."

"Home?" Jim muttered as they walked to the back of the "chariot." A large box had been built on the back of the wagon, a door opened at the rear. Ten guns were pointed at them, so they had had no choice but to obey.

As soon as they were inside, the door had been slammed shut and a padlock was snapped. No light entered, leaving the interior pitch black.

"So much for hospitality," Artemus murmured. He knocked on the wall of the box. "Seems pretty solid."

"Yeah. What's that smell?"

"Gas!" Artie barely had an opportunity to choke out the word.

At the moment, that was pretty much all Jim could remember prior to finding himself laying in the grass, surrounded by what appeared to be Confederate soldiers. Strangely, at first, all had seemed "normal." He had known where he was, why he was there. Almost as though history was repeating itself, except that other time, Artie had been hiding in the brush with him. They had escaped

__

Rewriting history.

Somehow those words meant something to him. Someone had said them. _Loveless?_ _Why can't I remember?_ _Is this a big charade? His men portraying Rebs in an attempt to confuse and maybe terrorize me?_

They had found his horse. Perhaps that was partially why they knew he was in the area, although that one man had said they had been warned about the presence of a spy. That had occurred in reality as well, a traitor who informed on them. He and Artie had made it out by the skin of their teeth, James West with a minnie ball in his shoulder. Artemus Gordon had been the reason they made it back to Union lines that day.

__

Where is Artie? He was with me in Loveless's laboratory

Slowly, bits and pieces were coming back. Another memory prior to finding himself here in wherever he was. Tied to chairs in the windowless laboratory as the diminutive doctor expounded on his theories. Quite a bit of the lecture went over Jim West's head, partially because he was still experiencing the effects of the anesthetic that had knocked them out. He remembered seeing the astonishment on Artie's face, however. Artemus Gordon had comprehended at least some of it. Enough to be aghast with whatever Loveless was proposing.

Boosted into the saddle, Jim sat quietly, looking around as the Rebel cavalrymen mounted their own horses. Yes, this looked like the Virginia countryside he remembered. The oak and pine trees, mountain laurel bushes by the flowers it appeared to be late spring or early summer. _It does not feel like a dream. It looks real. It feels real. Too damned real. _He could even smell the horses, hear the buzz of a June bug somewhere in the vicinity. Birds were not chirping, likely having been driven out of the immediate area by the humans.

The Confederate troopers surrounded him as they headed out of the woods, reaching a dirt road that seemed to skirt the forested area. The sense that he had heard referred to as _déjà vu _washed over James West as he surveyed the region. He knew he had been here before. This was definitely where he and Artemus had come so very close to being captured in the spring of eighteen sixty-three.

Henry Halleck, the general in charge of the overall armies, east and west, had requested a couple of men from the western theater to be sent to the Potomac region to do some espionage work. He wanted someone unknown to the Confederates, men who could move among them without suspicion. Grant had detached his two aides from the Vicksburg front, feeling they were not needed there at the moment, and sent them east. West and Gordon had been spectacularly successful until betrayed.

"What's the date, soldier?"

The man riding alongside Jim stared at him. "What kinda spy are you if you don't even know what day it is?"

"Just curious to see if I'm right."

"May 14, 1863."

__

This is crazy! That was indeed the date that he and his partner had had to flee for their lives, a week or so after the end of the ferocious–and lost–battle of Chancellorsville. _Why am I reliving it, but reliving it wrong?_ Jim tried to remember more of what had been said and done in Loveless's laboratory. A large box not the one on the wagon, but in the laboratory. Shiny and

Jim shook his head. The memories would not come. He knew he needed to relax, let them enter his mind naturally. Yet he needed to know. He needed to have some clue about what Loveless was doing, hoping to accomplish. Something twisted. Something bizarre

__

Rewriting history.

Those words echoed again. Artemus had said them, Jim realized. An angry, frustrated Artemus, speaking in protest, trying to argue something. _"You can't be rewriting history! It will cause disaster of untold proportions!"_ That was what his partner had raged.

Freight wagons on the road were the first clue that they were approaching the Rebel camp. Weary horses, mules, and some oxen were hitched to those wagons, and equally weary and ragtag men were at the reins. The South was feeling the pinch, the lack of supplies, army and civilian. If only they had not been so damnably stubborn, Jim mused. He could tell them now how futile it all would be. Thousands of men would be lost on both sides

Would they listen to him? Was this the history to be rewritten? Was he supposed to convince someone to end the conflict earlier than April 1865? _Would that also save Abraham Lincoln's life?_ A stir of excitement built in Jim West's mind, but was quickly quelled as he remembered something else, something that had occurred just minutes ago, the reason his mouth was throbbing: he had been slapped because he "insulted" a general's name. The name he had spoken had been _Loveless_.

Miguelito Loveless was here as well. If Jim West had been somehow transported into a netherworld of a distorted past, so had Dr. Loveless, who had apparently taken on another persona. A general? Jim would have laughed out loud if the very thought was not so horrifying.

They came upon the camp, passing through the pickets on guard. Jim saw how those men stared at him. They all seemed to know his identity. That had not exactly been the situation that other time. The colonel in charge of the camp had been the one to receive the information from the traitor. That colonel's "cleverness" and arrogance had done him in, when he decided he wanted to take all the credit for capturing the Yankee spies. West and Gordon had worked a ruse that allowed them to escape, although Jim had been wounded in the process.

Hundreds of men, infantry and cavalry, were in the camp, attending to chores or simply lounging near their tents, a few with bandages from apparently light wounds received in the recent battle. Like the pickets, they stared at the cavalry patrol and their prisoner. Jim vaguely wondered which Confederate regiment the camp belonged to, and which commander he would be encountering. He had a sense that this was not the same camp he and Artie had been taken to in the previous incarnation. Somehow it was different.

The difference, he came to realize as they passed rows and rows of tents, was in the layout. In the previous instance, the men had seemed to have erected their tents fairly haphazardly, by company, perhaps, or just because they had liked a particular area and got there first. These rows were orderly. Crisp, neatly aligned. One could sight down the rows which appeared to have been set up on a string laid taut, with their front pegs on that string.

The headquarters tents were toward the far side. Several larger tents, some with front flaps opened and supported to create shade over tables and chairs. Jim saw officers in and around these tents, and as before, they gaped at him. Many started following the patrol. The other time, the officers had looked, but most remained where they were, uninterested in another Yankee prisoner. These men knew.

They halted in front of the largest tent, where the men dismounted and the sergeant pulled Jim off his horse. _I must have quite a reputation these days_, Jim mused, as two men pressed in behind him, the points of their bayonets in his back. The others remained alert, guns at the ready.

The bearded sergeant went to the shadowed door of the tent, saluted and spoke to someone inside. Then he stepped back, and it was Jim's turn to gape.

"Artie!" he exclaimed aloud.

The officer in the gray uniform adorned with medals and a golden sash about the waist stared hard as he emerged. Three golden stars on a gray background were sewn onto the standup collar of his tunic. "You will address me as Colonel Gordon, sir." He lifted his right hand. A leather quirt hung from his wrist by a loop.

Jim clamped his mouth shut. Was that the major change in this scenario? Had Artemus somehow taken the guise of a Rebel colonel in his efforts to spy on the Confederate activities? If so, Jim West sure did not want to blow his cover. Nonetheless, the icy hatred in the "colonel's" brown eyes was disconcerting. Artemus was a fine actor, to be sure, but

"Have you positively identified him as West?" Gordon asked the sergeant.

"No papers on him. But he sure fits the description, don't he? Wiry, good looking kid with green eyes."

__

Kid? Jim West's eyes widened slightly. Were they seeing him as he had appeared years ago, in his early twenties? Come to consider it, Artemus did look younger as well. Perhaps nearly ten years younger.

The colonel approached the prisoner, clasping his hands behind him as he swaggered slightly, eyes narrowed. "He fits the description. But he doesn't look very dangerous to me. General Loveless knows him by sight. He'll confirm the identification when he arrives tomorrow."

"Loveless!" Jim could not suppress the exclamation. "Artie, listen to me. Loveless did this somehow. We've got to get back to our time and stop that crazy"

The hand bearing the quirt flashed around, and the leather slashed across Jim West's chest, tearing the fabric of his cotton shirt, opening a cut across his flesh. Jim fell back, again caught by the men behind him. Surprise, more than pain, was the immediate emotion. The blow had been vicious and intentional.

"You keep your filthy Yankee mouth shut," Gordon snarled, leaning toward him, the quirt lifted menacingly. "I don't want to hear our revered general's name uttered through your dirty lips again! You hear me?"

Pushed erect, Jim glanced down at his chest, saw the blood staining the shirt. Real physical pain now accompanied the astonishment. _Artie! What did he do to you?_ What could Miguelito Loveless have done to cause Artemus Gordon's behavior to alter so drastically? Jim could see Artie threatening him, even pretending to strike him. But to use the quirt as he had

"Take him to the guardhouse," Gordon snapped. "I want a twenty-four hour guard on him. Four men to a shift. If he escapes, anyone who was on duty at the time will face the firing squad. Move!" He whirled and stalked back into the tent, ignoring the salutes of every man present.

The size of the stockade surprised Jim. Usually, except in an established fortress, a "guardhouse" was merely a well-guarded tent, or perhaps even just a makeshift fence to enclose prisoners of war, recaptured deserters, and malcontents. The fresh hewn timber revealed it had been constructed recently. A fence built with perpendicular logs, each cut to a fine point on the top, surrounded a log building, which he soon discovered was separated into four cells, one on each corner. Each cell appeared to have its own heavy barred door, and one small window.

The entire cavalry patrol escorted him again. Jim wished he could laugh about it. The situation was far too serious at the moment, especially until he could figure out what was going on. He had pretty much given up the idea that Loveless had him under some sort of trance and was implanting these images. Everything was much too real.

He was shoved inside through an opened door, where he turned and faced the sergeant. "This is some setup for a temporary camp."

"The colonel likes to have things done right," the sergeant responded stiffly, displaying no opinion whatsoever about the arrangements.

"Going to undo my hands?"

The man's mouth tightened. "I didn't have no orders to do that." He stepped back out through the door, which was slammed shut. Jim heard the bar thud into place.

After a moment, Jim West turned and surveyed his new quarters in the faint light that came through the window, a window too small for a grown man, even the smallest, to slip through. He saw a narrow wooden bench against the far wall, and that was that as far as furnishings were concerned. The bench was bare, but obviously it was his bed. He noted a trench had been dug against the wall under the window. The latrine, apparently. By the odor, he was not the first to have inhabited this particular portion of the guardhouse.

He could hear voices through the open window, which was too high for him to look out through. With his hands still bound behind him, he was unable to grasp the sill to hoist himself up. Orders were being barked, obviously the commands regarding his security. With a loud sigh, Jim West sat down on the bench.

The cut on his chest was still stinging, though the bleeding had all but ceased. Likely, he mused, his shirt was going to adhere to his skin as the blood dried. Great. He looked at his dusty boots with some regret. Not the boots he wore as a Secret Service agent, the ones devised by Artemus Gordon that contained all manner of weapons and materials. Loveless, of course, knew about those secrets. Had he been forced to change his clothes?

Once more Jim tried to remember what had occurred in the laboratory. He could hear Loveless's droning, if somewhat excited voice, and above all, see in his mind's eye how the doctor had been strutting around in anticipation of carrying his plan to fruition. Again, he heard Artemus's angry protests as well.

__

"You can't do it! You have no idea what could happen! You'll be affecting thousands, millions of lives, not just a few! You may perpetrate unknown disasters"

Jim wished he could remember what Loveless had been telling them. He was unsure whether his inability to hear the doctor's words were due to his failure to comprehend all the scientific jargon that might have been used, or if, somehow, Loveless had blocked them from his mind. If that was the case, had something been said that would offer a clue to defeat whatever this Machiavellian plan was? Would Artie know?

Jim looked down at the cut on his chest again. He had seen Artemus Gordon's face as the quirt was applied. Almost almost as though the ersatz colonel enjoyed causing pain. Good acting on Artie's part? Jim had a cold, numbing sense that that was not the case. Somehow this Artemus Gordon was not the Artemus who had been with him hours ago days ago? in the parlor car, and in Loveless's laboratory.

If that was truly the case, James West was all alone. Alone and currently helpless in a warped section of time. It appeared that somehow Loveless had sent the three of them back ten years, and at the same time, had changed the personality of Artemus Gordon. _Why just Artie, and not me as well?_ If Loveless wanted to change history, and he had the ability to alter the behavior of men, why not both of them?

__

Or am I really, truly alone? Had he been transported back through time by himself? Was that not Artemus Gordon, his own Artemus Gordon, he had met, despite the resemblance? Was the General Loveless mentioned not the Miguelito Loveless Jim remembered Colonel Noel Vautrain who had caused him to meet a different Artemus in an antebellum situation. At that instance, Artemus had called himself Jack Maitland and had challenged Jim West to a duel. "Maitland" had subsequently been killed by a band of brigands who attacked the dueling party. Vautrain had mastered a method of time travel, had used it in an attempt to

Jim West shook his head rather violently to rid himself of the thoughts. Artemus Gordon was a northerner, a Union man like himself. Both had served the Union cause faithfully and courageously, and were still doing so in the Secret Service. Nothing would have persuaded the Artemus Gordon Jim knew to fight to support the Cause, the beliefs that would have broken the country in two, and worse, continued the curse of slavery. _Loveless could not have changed things enough to change Artie's beliefs could he?_

Jim wished he could believe that this Colonel Gordon was not his long time friend and brother. Artie had no kin living in the South, Jim was certain. No close kin anyway. Highly unlikely, in any case, that such kin would resemble Artemus so nearly identically, let alone bear the same name.

So many questions with no hope of gaining answers while being confined in this cell block. He needed to talk to Artemus, and yes, to Loveless. The general was arriving tomorrow. From where? Why was not the good doctor here waiting for him?

A couple of hours later, Jim heard the bar being removed from his door. He got to his feet, ready for anything. A man he had not seen before, another sergeant, stepped into the doorway, rifle ready, and ordered him out. Stepping into the bright sun, Jim squinted, and when he hesitated, he was shoved from behind, only by the hardest keeping his feet.

A half dozen men escorted him to the camp's blacksmith, a man with a forge and anvil, and a roaring fire. There manacles were fastened to Jim West's wrists. The chain between the "bracelets" possessed heavy links that would not be broken without the help of acid or a rasp. No fetters were placed on his ankles, which surprised him to some extent. Were they so confident that he would not, or could not, run from this place? A chain connecting his ankles would make it very difficult to mount a horse, as well. Of course, if they put this many men around him every time he was outside the cell, could be they were right!

Back in his cell, he was given a tin cup of tepid water and a chunk of very dry bread. He drank the water, pitched the bread out the window, having no appetite. Then came the long wait for darkness, and the even longer night. That Colonel Gordon did not make another appearance was unexpected. Jim had thought the camp's commander might want to interrogate him. Perhaps that honor was being left to the general expected the following day.

WWWWWW

Colonel Artemus Gordon stood in the opening of his tent, sipping the hot "coffee" from the tin cup. _Might as well just drink hot water,_ he mused. The few beans left in the commissary were being parceled out parsimoniously, providing very little flavor. Still it was better than the substitutes many civilians and military were required to use these days, which was often made from roasted peanuts, rye, or some other grain.

He liked to gaze out at the orderly arrangements of the camp. Disorder had always bothered him, even as a boy in Georgia. "My neat little boy," Mama would say when he arranged the dishes and flatware on the table before him just so. Colonel Gordon was certain that his orderly mind had been a factor in his rather rapid rise through the ranks of the Confederate Army. Other men of the cohort who had enlisted when he did were still far below him in rank.

Perhaps that dislike of disorder was one of the reasons he was feeling so perturbed this morning. He could not say why, but that young man brought into camp yesterday afternoon bothered him a great deal. Of course, West was a spy, an officer of the enemy ranks, clad in civilian garb when captured. He would hang. If it had not been for General Loveless's orders, Gordon would have scheduled the execution for this morning.

The information that the spy would be operating in their area, along with a full description, had come from the general's headquarters, accompanied by specific instructions that when captured, Captain West was to be held until General Loveless had an opportunity to speak to him. No one was to interrogate West beforehand.

That troubled the colonel as well. He did not like to think that the great general, the savior of the South, possessed a poor opinion of his capabilities. Colonel Artemus Gordon had had numerous successes in the field as well as in camp. His men were known to be well-trained and highly disciplined. Colonel Gordon expected a promotion any day now. He suspected he could receive the word momentarily, not only because his regiment had performed so ably in the recent conflict at Chancellorsville, but because of the loss of several high ranking officers to wounding or death during that battle, creating openings. He knew that no one could quarrel with his politics. He had been, and was still, dedicated supporter of the Cause.

__

No, he told himself, _some other reason existed why General Loveless wanted to be the one to question the prisoner._ _It has nothing to do with me. _Although no prior warning had been received that any other Union spies were in the area, apparently the general knew something about this man, perhaps even more than the fact that West had been on the staff of General Grant in the western theater.

Was that why Loveless claimed first dibs? He wanted to learn as much as possible about the man who was gaining such an outstanding reputation in the west, who was driving the Confederate forces there from the field? That has be it, Gordon reassured himself. No slight against his own abilities.

Yet, he could not forget that moment when he himself lost his temper and struck the prisoner. West had recoiled from the blow, blood immediately staining his shirt. The pain in his green eyes, however, appeared to be something more than the agony caused by the blow. He had been surprised. Hurt.

Why had West attempted to speak to him so intimately, using a pet name that only his family and closest friends ever dared utter? _Loveless did this_ That was what he had said. Did what? West went on to say something about time. Had he been attempting to establish himself as a madman?

__

Loveless did this

Why were those words so troubling? Almost as though something needed to be remembered. Nonsense. Artemus Gordon had an excellent memory. He had been known throughout his school days for his ability to memorize poems and passages in books. He had pleased his mother by committing the entire New Testament book of _John_ to memory at Sunday School. Miniscule, seemingly unimportant facts had a tendency to cling to his brain, and oftentimes turned out to be important after all. The memory retention served him well during his military career. He had an orderly mind. He had forgotten nothing. _Especially, I have not forgotten a fellow named Jim West._

An orderly appeared, saluting, reporting that breakfast was ready. Gordon followed him to the large tent where the junior officers were gathered, all on their feet. They saluted, the colonel saluted back, and they all sat down. Officer's fare was better than that served the enlisted men, but not by much. A Yankee supply train had been raided a couple of weeks ago, providing some tinned meat to supplement the hoecakes fashioned from ground corn.

"Beg your pardon, sir," Captain Pike spoke up, "do we know when the general will arrive?"

"Last word was before midday. I ordered Captain Weathers to ride out to meet his party, and to send a man back in order to inform us."

Pike smiled, nodding. "Perhaps he'll finish with the Yankee spy and turn him over to us. I'm of a mood to see a bluebelly dancing from a rope. Especially one with his reputation."

"You've heard of him, Jeremy?" asked the captain seated beside Pike.

"My brother is with Forrest. He's written to me about James West. Cocky little devil. Has gotten away with a great deal, even at his young age, quite often due to his ability to charm the ladies."

"Enough gossip," the colonel snapped, unsure why he was annoyed by it this morning. Gossip was usual fodder for conversation in these long days in camp. All were hoping that General Loveless would be bringing them news of an upcoming move for the army. Everyone knew the importance of following up the great victory just accomplished as soon as possible. "Captain Pike, of far more import is whether your men are ready to welcome the general."

"Yes, sir. The company is extremely proud and gratified to be selected for the honor, sir." Pike frowned then. "I'm puzzled with the order that the prisoner is to be positioned outside the stockade for the welcoming ceremonies."

"The general's orders," Gordon clipped. He had been bemused by that part of the orders as well. Especially because the orders had arrived three days ago, long before West was in custody. The general had been very certain that the spy would be captured, obviously. Gordon could only wonder if General Loveless had had some past encounter with James West. Their ages and circumstances were so different.

Colonel Artemus Gordon pushed the thoughts from his mind, just as he had had to concentrate last night to stop thinking about the captive in order to gain some rest. He had no reason to question the great general who had led the South's army so close to ultimate victory here in the east. Everyone knew that as soon as the Union Army of the Potomac was destroyed, perhaps after just one more great battle, they would be heading west to help defeat Grant. And then the Confederacy would be a true reality.

WWWWWW

Breakfast had been no better, and possibly worse, than supper, consisting of some probably captured hardtack and a cup of bitter-tasting hot water. Nevertheless, realizing that chances were the Reb soldiers were not eating much better, and also that he needed any semblance of nourishment he could get, Jim soaked the hardtack in the water until it was somewhat chewable. At least it was not weevil infested. He had had his share of that in the west on the occasions when Union supply wagons had been unable to get through.

Jim West certainly had not slept well. The narrow hard slab that served as his bed was not so much the problem as the manacles on his wrists, which restricted his movements and rattled every time he moved. _Maybe I'll get used to them._ He chuckled mockingly. Chances were, he would not have opportunity to get used to them. The surprise was that he had not been hanged already.

__

Hanged? _What if I die in this this lifetime? That would change the future. Was that what Artemus had argued about? Loveless could not, should not arrange for either of us to die in an alternate history._

Or was something else to be changed? The mere fact that Miguelito Loveless was known as a great general for the Confederacy was a huge alteration of history. Loveless, rather than Robert E. Lee leading the Confederate forces? The good doctor's ego getting in the way again, it appeared. Could it be more than ego? Some sort of plot to what?

Jim did not like to even speculate. Loveless was not entirely a predictable man, beyond the fact that he would have devised a grandiose scheme that usually involved elevating himself to some sort of emperor status. The pint-sized doctor had been trying for years to regain a huge portion of the state of California, claiming that it had been purloined from his ancestors.

Could this be connected to his ambitions as far as California was concerned? Help the South win the war, and be awarded the state of California for his own kingdom? Jim shook his head. In the first place, California was not part of the Confederate states to be parceled out as spoils. Then again, if the Union had to sue for peace and

He sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the rough wooden wall as he lolled on the bench. Why bother? Loveless would be making an appearance, and knowing the talkative doctor, he would be anxious to reveal his plans to the agents. Agent. Singular. Unless Jim was very wrong in his assumptions now, Artemus Gordon was no longer with him. Somehow, Loveless had placed Artie on the other side.

Jim knew the noon hour had not yet arrived sometime later when he heard voices outside the stockade, and then the bar was lifted from his door. The sergeant who had led the unit that made the capture was there, weapon ready. He did not speak, but jerked his head in a summons. Jim got the idea he was not too happy with whatever was coming up. Jim West wondered if he would not be very happy with it himself. Interrogation of spies could get a bit rough.

Once again surrounded by armed men, Jim was led down the orderly paths between tents toward the headquarters area. In one sense he welcomed an opportunity to see and talk to "Colonel Gordon" again. Whatever Loveless had done to Artie, the possibility existed that talking to him about the past–or the future, depending on how one looked at it–could shake Gordon's mind processes. Jim knew he was going to try, in any case, even if it earned him more blows from the quirt. He had to.

Colonel Gordon was standing in front of his tent with a number of other Confederate officers, all togged out in their finest. Jim was surprised–then again, not so much–to recognize Jeremy Pike among them. Pike's expression when he gazed on the prisoner was as cold and hateful as that of any other officer wearing the gray uniform. _He doesn't know me either!_

Jim was escorted to a sturdy pole embedded deeply into the ground off to one side. The chain connecting his wrists was fastened to a ring at the top of that pole, stretching Jim's arms high above his head. He was then gagged with a neckerchief. Their prisoner thus secured, his guards took their places with their units.

Jim West had no doubt who they were waiting for, and he found himself anticipating as well. The "great general" was coming, and the camp was alive with excitement. Jim had heard, and had witnessed a couple of times, how the Southern troops revered "Marse Robert." He had seen expressions on the faces of the common soldier that mirrored what he was seeing now. The arrival of "Marse Miguelito" was imminent, obviously.

The cavalry arrived first. Jim recognized the leader of the unit. The famous General James Ewell Brown Stuart, known as "Jeb." _Hey, Jeb! In case you are interested, you're going to die about a year from now at Yellow Tavern, struck down by Union horsemen._ Or would he? In Loveless's alternate history who knew?

A buggy conveying the commanding general was next. The general was not alone, nor was Jim surprised. A very lovely blonde woman sat at his side on the fine leather seat. An enlisted man in uniform handled the reins. All the soldiers in Gordon's camp set up a huge cheer. Loveless waved, grinning widely.

Not astonishing that Loveless was also dressed to the nines. Golden epaulets glittered on his shoulders, matching the sash around his waist. The décor on his collar was the stars against gold of a general. Apparently the fact that Lee never wore this insignia did not deter his "replacement" from doing so. An array of medals on the chest of the coat almost seemed as though they might overbalance the small man as he scampered down the steps set out for him. He was not wearing a ceremonial sword, but he did carry a gold-headed cane. He did not look toward the prisoner, waving the snowy-white wide-brimmed hat at the adoring throng.

Colonel Gordon orated a splendid welcoming speech. _Artie always could put on a show._ At least Loveless had not altered that part of Gordon's personality. All of the officers were introduced to the general, and though Jim could not hear the words exchanged, the expressions on the countenances told it all. They worshipped the man!

Artemus Gordon personally escorted the general to the tent set up to be his residence while he was present in camp. Gordon had made certain the location was perfect, in the shade of a large oak tree, after commanding several junior officers to relocate their own tents. Everyone knew that General Loveless was fond of creature comforts. A tent for his secretary, Miss Evans, was placed nearby.

Gordon knew better than to comment on the presence of the female secretary. Most officers had male aides, as he himself had. The fact that Miss Evans was a comely young lady, of well normal size, was a subject of gossip, but no officer who valued his career was going to allow the general to be aware of that. General Loveless was a bachelor so his personal affairs were his own. His ability as a general did not suffer for lack of a staff either. He was able to attend to issuing necessary orders and receive reports without any perceivable problems.

"This will do splendidly," Loveless announced after a survey of his quarters. "Now, bring the prisoner to me."

"Sir!" Gordon's eyes widened, as protest leapt to his tongue.

The general raised a hand to stop his words. "I wish to speak to him in complete privacy, Colonel. It is a matter of national security. You will bring him to my tent. Station guards on the perimeter, but they must be twenty feet distant. Understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

__

I don't understand, but I am trained to take orders. Gordon saluted smartly, and headed back toward his own tent and the pole where the prisoner was still confined. He gave the orders briskly, and though both officers and men questioned with their eyes, none spoke aloud. Loveless was known for his eccentricity. Eccentric, but brilliant on the field of battle. In the first two years of the war, he had given orders that initially appeared insane, often flying in the face of all known military tactics. Yet in every instance, he had been able to anticipate the enemy perfectly. For that reason, the South was going to win this war. No one had any doubt.

WWWWWW

Jim West flexed his shoulders as his arms were freed. His hands were numb, the blood drained after being elevated for such a long period. He started to reach for the gag, but Gordon's quirt struck at his hand, not hard enough to cut the skin this time, but to raise a welt that Jim knew he would feel later as sensation returned to his hands.

With Gordon in the lead, the cadre of guards escorted the prisoner through the lines of tents, until coming to a sight that was not unexpected to Jim West. A very large tent was set up, larger than the camp commander's quarters, with chairs and benches arrayed on a carpet spread outside the entrance. The Confederate flag fluttered on a pole, but other colorful banners were arrayed about, decorating the tent, resembling drawings and paintings Jim had seen of the field homes of great kings and knights.

Only the colonel and the prisoner entered the tent, the floor of which had been covered with boards overlain another fine carpet. Except for the walls being obviously a tent, one could imagine oneself inside a gentleman's boudoir. A four-poster bed was the dominant piece of furniture, but fine chairs and tables were arrayed about. At the general's nod, Gordon now jerked the gag off Jim's mouth, allowing the kerchief to fall about his neck.

Jim paused and surveyed the grinning man. "Well, doctor, I don't know whether to say you've come up or gone down in the world."

"Prisoner!" Gordon spoke sharply. "You will address the general by his proper title!"

Jim West glanced at the colonel, saw the pure fury on his face. _Artie, if this is an act, it is too damned convincing!_ "I believe I am, colonel. Dr. Miguelito Loveless in a previous life."

Loveless chuckled. "In a sense Mr. West Captain West is correct, colonel. It's a little known fact that I was indeed a physician before the conflict began. Now, you may leave us."

"Sir, I I don't think that's wise. You should at least have him bound hand and foot."

"Captain West won't harm me. He knows he must not. Isn't that correct, captain?"

Jim West did not respond, feeling his own temper heating. _Damn, he's right! I can't harm him. He's our ticket back to reality!_

"Now run along, Colonel Gordon," Loveless said pleasantly. "I want to have a long talk with the spy. He has some information I need personally. Then he'll be all yours. I'm sure he has many answers to questions you have about enemy troop movements, and you will be free to use whatever methods you choose to persuade him to tell you about them."

"That will indeed be a pleasure, general. Thank you. Captain, I shall make arrangements for our future tete-a-tete." Gordon saluted smartly, spun, and departed from the tent.

Jim stared after him for a long moment, a cold knot in his stomach. Convincing indeed! The glitter in Gordon's eyes as he anticipated "persuading" the prisoner was all too real. Jim brought his gaze back to the small man.

"What did you do to Artemus Gordon?"

Loveless's eyes widened in innocent surprise. "Do to him? Why nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Oh, well, perhaps I tweaked his background a bit." He smirked.

"What do you mean?" Jim demanded.

The little man snickered and waddled over to a plush divan, hoisting himself up and sitting back, one leg extended. "You don't seem to appreciate the enormity of my accomplishments, Mr. West. Don't you comprehend what has happened?"

"Not entirely," Jim had to admit. "I did not grasp all you were telling us in your laboratory. In fact–as you probably are aware–I'm having difficulty remembering it all."

Loveless waved a hand. "A natural consequence of the transition, particularly if one is unaware and unprepared. I brought us back in time, Mr. West. Ten years. It is 1863, not 1873."

"And you are revising history."

"I am _correcting_ history. Thousands upon thousands of lives will be saved, because this war is going to end in a few weeks. I will destroy the Union army at Gettysburg, and then head west to wipe out Grant's forces."

Jim shook his head. "Not possible."

"Isn't it?" Loveless merely looked at Jim a long moment, smiling in a self-satisfied manner. Jim West knew he could not disguise his own thoughts. With the knowledge Loveless possessed concerning what actually happened, of the troop movements and the size of armies, of course he could counter them. That must have been what he had been doing all along, to gain himself this reputation.

"For what purpose?" Jim asked then.

The good doctor jumped off the divan and paced around a moment before pausing to look at the chained man. "I told you, to _correct_ history. The South had the right idea, you know. They knew how to live in a grand scale, much like the English of the glorious past."

"The South kept men enslaved," Jim spoke harshly. "I and other men risked our lives to put an end to that practice. I would have thought that you of all people would want to end the oppression that slavery imposed on innocent people."

The flush that darkened Loveless's countenance revealed the words had hit home. The one thing Loveless understood was bias and suppression. He had faced it all his life. He waved a dismissive hand, however. "I'll deal with that later."

Jim shook his head firmly. "You cannot even consider continuing the grand scale' of the South's lifestyle unless you factor in slavery. Slavery fueled the wealth that allowed the great plantations to exist. Beyond that, I should tell you the story of a certain Colonel Vautrain, who also sought to change history."

The doctor shrugged. "Mr. Gordon related that wild tale in my laboratory. Poppycock. It was an illusion, inducing hallucinations. Couldn't be anything else. A man could not have done that with merely his mind. After all, I possess the greatest brain in history!"

"No, it was not an illusion. Vautrain did it somehow. I could have believed the incident where I was forced to fight a duel with Artemus was an hallucination, but not the explosion and fire that destroyed the mansion. Not the cannonball that caused a wall to fall on the colonel, pinioning and smashing his legs again the very thing he sought to rectify, along with killing General Grant and changing the course of the war. Maybe history cannot be changed. Have you considered that?"

"I don't want to talk about this, Mr. West," Loveless sulked. "I thought you were more interested in my plans for you and Mr. Gordon."

"You still didn't explain how you changed Artemus."

"Simply by changing his life."

"I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. You are a bright young man, Mr. West, but you lack the sophistication of a true education. My device, my history transition device, allows me to send myself, or anyone else, to various stages of life. At which time, I can alter the situations of those lives. In Mr. Gordon's case, I journeyed back to a time long before he was born, and arranged for his family to migrate to Georgia. Thus, two generations later, he was born on a fine plantation outside Atlanta. He grew up as a southern gentleman, adoring all things the South stands for. And eventually hating anyone who sought to change that. Including men who donned the Union blue. Really quite a simple task."

"I saw Jeremy Pike. He was a Union man as well."

"Hmph. He was even easier, having been from Maryland. I simply adjusted a few events and he was no longer a Union man. He hates the Union as much as Colonel Gordon does. Mr. Pike, unfortunately, will fall at Gettysburg." Loveless smirked.

Jim knew Loveless expected a angry protest. He chose to speak quietly. "I take it you and I are the only ones who know the truth?"

"Exactly. You surely understand why I did not alter your memory or life."

Once more, Jim was silent a long moment, seeing the glittering hatred and triumph in Loveless's eyes. Finally he spoke quietly. "Artemus warned you that you could not safely alter history. You can't rewrite it."

"Ah, but I am. The Civil War will end two years ahead of schedule. The United States will surrender unconditionally. The Confederacy will be a benevolent conqueror, of course, wishing to claim only what is rightfully theirs. Such as states like Maryland and Kentucky."

"And California."

"I said you were a bright man, didn't I?" Loveless snickered. "Yes, the great golden state of California will be mine at last. The entire state. I may even convince them to restore the original Spanish territories as part of California. Just think, I will control what is now known as the Arizona Territory, Nevada, Utah and all their wealth. I know it will please you to know that my intent is to take Colonel Gordon along as my right-hand-man. See?" Loveless squealed as Jim West scowled. "I knew that you would like that!"

"It's not going to work," Jim said firmly. "You can't control every nuance of history. Something you forgot is going to jump up and bite you."

Again Loveless waved an indifferent hand. "You underestimate me, Mr. West. You always have. You see, with my device, I can always return to correct mistakes if necessary."

__

So the device is here! Of course it would be. However Loveless managed to transport them to this alternate time period, the device would have to be at hand. Where? What did it look like? The box he remembered?

"Now," Loveless went on, "I will turn you over to Colonel Gordon and his friends. You will be quite surprised, I'm sure, when you realize just how deep the colonel's hatred of all things Union is. You may have gotten a glimpse of it a short while ago. He will truly enjoy attempting to extract information from you. Information which you and I both know you do not possess, but Gordon does not realize that.

"He's an experienced officer. Regular army at one time, with service in the Indian wars. He was even a captive of the Cheyenne for a period and experienced their hospitality. So the colonel has some knowledge of methods that might persuade a man to reveal secrets. However, I warn you, don't attempt to convince him that you and he are good friends. That idea would not please him in the least, I assure you. Might even make him angry."

"You're really enjoying this," Jim murmured.

"Of course I am! I'm going to win this time, Mr. West. You have thwarted my plans too many times. You're going to die here, slowly and agonizingly, at the hands of your best friend. You'll be forgotten in history, while Colonel Gordon and I go forth to establish a great empire. Can you see the irony?"

"Oh, excuse me! I thought you were alone, general."

The feminine voice spoke in the doorway. Jim turned to survey the very pretty young woman. "Well, doctor, you've outdone yourself."

"She is lovely, isn't she? Marianne, may I present Captain James West, late of the Union Army? And soon, I'll be able to say, the _late_ Captain James West!" Loveless giggled at his own cleverness.

"Oh." Marianne's blue eyes registered dismay. "Oh, dear, Miguelito. You know I don't like to hear about such things."

Loveless stepped over to take her hand in one of his, patting it with the other one. "I'm so sorry, my dear. My deepest apologies. I did not mean to upset you. I'm sure viewing this handsome, virile young man is doubly distressing, knowing he's going to die soon. But do remember, he is the enemy. He is a spy, the vilest kind of enemy."

"Yes, of course." Marianne's eyes hardened now. "Colonel Gordon is to torture him."

"And I will have a front row seat. I would not miss this for the world."

"I'll try to put on a good show," Jim West said dryly.

Miss Evan's eyes swept over him, and Jim knew he saw a bit of admiration sneaking through the abhorrence for what he stood for. His attractiveness where the "fairer sex" was concerned as something he had shamelessly exploited for a long time, and as her blue eyes met his green ones, he smiled. Bright pink spots appeared in her cheeks.

"Good day!" Marianne Evans huffed, and stalked out of the tent.

"I'm afraid your charms are lost on Marianne, Mr. West," Loveless derided. "She is a true Southern Belle, and would have no truck for a Yankee, especially a Yankee spy."

"Can't blame me for trying."

"No, indeed. That's one of the few things I admire about you, Mr. West. You never give up. Shall we go?" Loveless motioned toward the tent flap.

"I'd prefer to remain here in the splendor of the general's quarters, but I suppose I have no choice."

"None whatsoever."

"Shame about Jeff Davis's treasure, though." Jim started toward the opening.

Loveless grabbed his arm. "What's that?"

Jim West gazed at him innocently. "What's what?"

"What did you say about the treasure?"

"Oh, that. I just said it's a shame the secret of the location of that treasure will be lost now." James West prevented himself from smiling as he gazed at the smaller man. Loveless's face was filled with contradictions, changing from suspicion to curiosity to downright avidity and back again through the gamut.

"You can't fool me, West. You're a clever young man. You are simply trying to trick me."

"Okay. If you say so. But with history changed, I suppose that will mean the treasure stays in Richmond in the hands of the Confederate authorities rather than being placed on the wagons as Davis fled with his cabinet." Jim turned toward the opening again, and once more, Loveless stopped him.

"What do you know about it? You were not involved in the chase. I know about your war record, Mr. West. I made a point of studying it minutely."

"Did I say I was involved in Davis's capture?"

Loveless stomped a foot. "Then why do you mention the treasure?"

"I don't know," Jim mused. "Perhaps an attempt to save my life. Perhaps a ruse to trick you, as you said. I guess you'll never know. Especially now that you've altered Artie's memories as well."

"Guard!" the doctor raged, furious. When two men quickly appeared, he ordered them to escort the prisoner back to their colonel. "We'll see what you have to say once dear Colonel Gordon finishes with you, West. I'll suggest he ask you some pointed questions about that legendary treasure trove."

Jim smiled. "Won't that make you look like a traitor, doctor? After all, you'll have to admit that the South lost the war."

Loveless saw what Jim saw, the widened eyes of the two guards. "No such thing! No such thing! The Confederacy cannot lose with the great General Loveless at the helm. Take him!"

As Jim was taken away, he glanced back toward the general's compound. Loveless stood in the opening of his grand tent staring after him. Jim West knew the doctor well enough to realize that he had planted a seed of doubt in Loveless's mind. That was all he had intended and hoped. Now to do some cultivating so that that seed grew to fruition.

Colonel Gordon was standing in front of his own tent when they reached it, and when the guards started to steer the prisoner toward the stake again, he called out an order. The surprised sentries brought Jim to Gordon's tent. The colonel gave similar orders as had the general, to surround the tent but remain out of earshot.

Gordon drew his pistol as he faced Jim West. "Now, Captain West, I'm sure you realize what we want from you."

"Don't you feel a little strange pointing that gun at me, Artie?" Jim inquired casually.

The colonel stiffened. Although he was not now holding his quirt, his left hand flicked against his pants leg. "Captain, I warned you once before to use my proper title. I will not warn you again."

Jim decided to push it a little further. He had heard Artemus use a southern accent on previous occasions when in disguise, but never before had it sounded so authentic. He was not entirely willing yet to accept Loveless's claim of altering Artemus Gordon's family history.

"Tell me Colonel do you remember the first time we met Dr. Loveless?"

"West, you are trying my patience, and those who know me will tell you I have notoriously little to begin with. You were captured as a spy. You will be hanged as a spy. The question is how much you want to suffer before that rope is placed around your neck."

The ice in Gordon's voice and eyes was daunting. Jim West worked hard to retain his aplomb under that hateful glare. "Loveless murdered Professor Nielsen in an attempt to coerce the state of California"

Gordon swung the barrel of the pistol toward Jim West's head. Jim ducked back in time, but lost his footing, staggering and falling into a wooden chair. The colonel now aimed the pistol straight at his head. "Don't move, Captain West. I am heartily tired of your attempts to impugn the reputation of the hero of the Confederacy!"

"Where's Robert E. Lee?"

The colonel blinked. "Why would you ask that? He's on President Davis's staff in Richmond, of course. A useful man to some extent." Gordon straightened his shoulders. "But the personnel in Richmond is not what you are here to discuss. I'm giving you the opportunity to tell what you know about the Union troops in this area. I want to know numbers, where they are deployed, names of commanders"

Jim was shaking his head. "Sorry, colonel. I can't help you. I'm new to this area. I just dropped in,' you might say. Your beloved general knows more than I do."

"You are pushing me, West. I've got the impression you do not believe I can or will carry out my threats. Be assured, those beliefs are wrong. One of the reasons the Confederacy is on the verge of winning this war is our willingness to extract information, vital information, from captives. We have methods."

"So the doctor informed me." Jim leaned forward slightly, putting urgency in his voice. "Artemus, please! Listen to me! Try to remember! Your name is Artemus Gordon, yes, but you were not born in Georgia! You served honorably in the Union Army, as a member of Grant's staff and then"

This time the gun barrel did not miss. More or less trapped by the chair, Jim was unable to lean back out of the way, and the metal struck his jaw. Stunned, he slumped to the floor, on his hands and knees. He could hear the colonel yelling, and moments later, hands grasped his arms, pulling him to his feet.

"Take him back to the pole!" Gordon commanded. "We'll see how a chilly spring night loosens his tongue!"

Artemus Gordon stood in front of his tent and watched as the prisoner was dragged back to the pole, where his chained wrists were hoisted above his head and fastened to the ring. A cool breeze was blowing now, and dark clouds gathering. Though not native to this part of the South, Gordon had spent enough time in Virginia to be aware of the vagaries of spring weather. Mid May was too late for snow, but the nighttime could be damp and chill. A soft, city-bred Yankee might well experience difficulties. Hell, even a seasoned Georgia farm boy would not want to be out in that sort of weather with no protection!

Hearing the unaccustomed trill of a feminine voice, Gordon looked down the way to see General Loveless and his secretary approaching. She was indeed a lovely woman. As Gordon watched, the general paused near the prisoner, saying something to Miss Evans, who nodded and continued toward the colonel's tent.

"Are you comfortable, Mr. West?" Loveless inquired with mock solicitousness.

"Never better, doctor," Jim replied casually, speaking carefully due to the soreness of his jaw. "Off to visit the colonel? I presume you intend to ask him about the missing Confederate treasury."

Loveless scowled. "Stop that, West. You don't know anything about that fortune. No more than anyone else. It's just a legend."

"If you say so. Too bad Artie has lost all his memories of the postwar period."

"Perhaps I don't need his memories. You could be persuaded to talk."

"Wouldn't do any good," Jim said. "I'll be happy to tell you what I know, but it wouldn't be enough. You'd need Artemus Gordon's information as well. Damn shame. The rumor is that it was worth several million dollars in U.S. funds all told But of course, in your version of events, the treasure would never have been lost in the first place. _C'est la vie._"

"I don't believe you." Loveless expression was almost a pout.

"Okay. Fine. I wouldn't mind telling you how it came about, but I'm a little busy right now. And a little uncomfortable."

"That's the way it's supposed to be," the diminutive doctor growled. "Perhaps tomorrow morning you'll be ready to tell me everything."

"Perhaps. Who knows what the morning will bring?"

"Colonel Gordon is determined that you will reveal all you know about the Yankee army in this vicinity."

"I already told him what I know. Nothing. I would suggest, doctor, that if you want Davis's treasure, you'd better not allow Artie to hang me. You had also better know how to restore him to the Artemus Gordon we both know and love."

Loveless's chin came up. "Of course I could do that if I wished to. But that is not the plan. The plan is to return to a future where the South won the war and but I've already explained that to you, Mr. West. No, you are trying to trick me and I'm not going to allow it."

"Suit yourself. I'll tell you what. If you really are able to zip around from year to year, visit Plano, Texas on August 14, 1869 and attend the funeral of one Benjamin Herbert Washington. That is in the old future of course, not your new one. If that makes sense."

"Why would I want to do that?" Loveless sniffed.

"Because Ben Washington is the man who told us how to find Jefferson Davis's lost treasure. You'll want to be careful though. Artemus and I were in attendance at that funeral."

__

"Mama, there's a funny little man hiding behind the tombstones!"

Jim West experienced a thrill of excitement as he suddenly remembered the words of Ben's youngest grandson. Little Benjie had been quickly hushed so that the preacher's sermon at the graveside would not be interrupted. Later the child insisted he had seen a "little man" dressed like pictures of General Lee. Everyone decided that boy's imagination was working overtime, although West and Gordon had taken the precaution of walking around the cemetery, finding nothing. At that point in their careers, they had not yet encountered Miguelito Loveless.

Loveless shook a finger at him. "You've tricked me too many times, West. Not this time. I don't need that gold. I'm going to have California and a good portion of the west as my kingdom."

"Amazing," Jim murmured. "Never thought I'd hear anyone, let alone you, say that they didn't need several million dollars in gold and silver."

"That's enough. That's enough! Enjoy your evening!" Loveless spun away and stalked toward the tent where the colonel was now in conversation with the lovely secretary, who was smiling warmly.

__

Guess Artie–Colonel Gordon–is more her type. Jim noticed, however, that Loveless immediately grasped Miss Evans's hand in a possessive way. Jealous? The trio went on inside the tent.

Jim West tried to adjust his position, but nothing much worked to ease his discomfort. His boots barely touched the ground, causing his weight to bear on his arms and shoulders. A few hours suspended from the pole had numbed his hands earlier. Overnight was going to be difficult. Perhaps he should have made up some facts and figures

No, because that would mean his usefulness to the colonel would be at an end, and the noose would be waiting. He could prolong his life only by refusing to divulge whatever information they were convinced he possessed, even if that prolonging meant torture.

__

Loveless went to Ben Washington's services. Jim was sure of that now. However his time-shifting device worked, he had been able to hie himself out of this version of 1863 and back to the original version of 1869, the one where Artemus Gordon was still a veteran of the northern armies, at that time a member of an acting troupe who also worked with the government. Jim West had been in the area, learned that Artemus's company was performing nearby, and the two men arranged a reunion. They had been together when they found the injured Ben Washington.

"Hey, you! Damn Yankee!"

Jim had been staring at the ground, deep in thought, not noticing the approach of the soldier. The guards were not assigned to keep constant watch while he was chained up, believing he could not possibly escape. But this man was one of the pair who had come into Loveless's tent to overhear some of the conversation.

"What can I do for you?" Jim inquired pleasantly.

The rawboned man stayed a half dozen feet away. Interesting, Jim considered, that even though the South was supposedly winning in this version of the war, they apparently were still having a problem supplying their troops. Even the great Loveless had not been able to solve the lack of materiel and the means to manufacture it in the Confederate states. The uniforms of all the enlisted men were ragtag, sometimes even comprising parts of captured Union garb. This man appeared to be wearing the faded blue trousers of the U.S. cavalry, complete with yellow stripe.

"I heard what you said to the general. About us losin'. What kinda crazy talk was that?"

"Why don't you ask your great and beloved general?"

"Well, hell's bells, Yankee, common soldier like me don't go waltzing up to a great man like General Loveless just to have a little chitchat!"

"Too bad. He could tell you a lot of interesting stuff."

"So what was you saying? It was like you could see the future. Now my granny can do that. But she ain't never said the South was going to lose. Mostly, she just knows whether the next neighbors is going to be coming by or maybe if the chickens is gonna stop layin'. Once in a while she knows when Death is gonna show up."

Jim gazed at the soldier. He saw intelligence in the eyes, despite the rough clothing and crude manner of talking. "In a manner of speaking, I _can_ see into the future. For instance, I have a good notion that if you kept a close watch on General Loveless's tent late tonight, you might see him leave it."

The soldier frowned. "What's so important about that?"

"If you follow him, you could see him do something extremely interesting. Be sure you don't allow him to spot you though. Come talk to me tomorrow if I'm still alive."

The man scrubbed his unshaven chin with his hand, eyes thoughtful. "Ain't going to be a good night to be out and about."

Jim glanced toward the lowering sky. The breeze that sprang up had a definite chill in it. "That's something I'm rather concerned about myself."

"Well, there ain't nothin' I can do about your situation, Yank, even if I was of a mind to. I reckon Colonel Gordon has plans for you. But you surely stirred up my curiosity. Name's Nate Johnson, by the by. Hail from down in the Pee Dee River country."

"Nice area."

"You been there?"

Jim almost replied that he had done a stint in South Carolina after the surrender, but stopped himself. Johnson had enough information to chew on. "I've been there. You best move on, Johnson. Folks are starting to notice."

Johnson glanced around and saw what Jim had noticed, that several officers and a few enlisted men were watching the conversation. However, the soldier did not hurry off, only nodded his head. "If you're fit for a talk tomorrow, maybe I'll come see you. Evenin', Yank." He strolled away.

WWWWWW

Colonel Artemus Gordon stood inside his tent, gazing out toward the pole where the prisoner was secured. No lamps were lit in the tent behind him, so he was fairly certain he would be unobserved, nonetheless he remained back a couple of steps. He was unsure of the time, although he had heard the midnight changing of the picket guards some time ago.

The threatened rain had not materialized. The air, however, held a definite winter chill, and anyone out and about would soon be well chilled if not wearing protection. Clad only in a thin shirt, the spy was feeling the cold, Gordon was certain.

He could see the shadow of the form against the post, and thought that West was slumping against his chains, asleep or perhaps unconscious. He had been suspended there for more than a half dozen hours now.

Gordon almost turned back to go to the table where his box of cigars rested. A smoke would be good right now, but he did not wish to call attention to his position here, either with the flare of a match, or by the glow of the coals that would gleam in the darkness. He did not want anyone to suspect he was up and about, restless and unable to sleep.

Most importantly, he did not care for anyone to realize the sense of unease he was experiencing was caused by that prisoner. Artemus Gordon did not understand it. Captain James West was the antithesis to everything he himself stood for and believed in. West was trying to destroy the way of life he and known and loved.

__

Yet

Yet it went beyond the insane notion West had attempted to impress on him about him actually being a Yankee. Such foolishness. Why would the young captain think he could get away with such hogwash? Gordon pressed his hand over his eyes for a moment. _Why did General Loveless ask the strange questions he had asked?_

At first, Gordon had thought that the general's behavior was due to a spate of jealousy. The colonel and Miss Evans had been enjoying quite a pleasant tete-a-tete while General Loveless held a conversation with the captured spy. Artemus had liked the way Miss Marianne Evans smiled at him. The general obviously had not.

The commanding general had been rather testy when they sat down to eat dinner in the colonel's tent, though his mood mellowed somewhat after awhile. Gordon wondered if his impression was correct that the general's demeanor improved because he wanted some information. In any case, General Loveless became quite affable when he began to ask the colonel about his memories of his life before the war.

Somewhat flattered by the interest, Gordon had told the commanding general about his family, about the plantation in Georgia. He soon became aware, however, that Loveless was not listening attentively, as though not genuinely interested. When Gordon ceased speaking, General Loveless had another question: was the colonel acquainted with a man by the name of Benjamin Washington?

Artemus Gordon had thought a moment, then shook his head negatively. Although he did not say so out loud, that sounded like a slave name. Or possibly a freedman. Why would the great general ask such a question? The name had not come up again. Instead, the general brought the conversation around to the financial situation of the Confederacy. Even Miss Evans appeared to be somewhat astonished that General Loveless would be discussing such a subject not only on a social occasion, but with a junior officer.

General Loveless and Miss Evans had departed rather soon after the meal was completed. The general claimed weariness after the day's long journey. Colonel Gordon could not help but believe something else was on the commanding general's mind. Again, Miss Evans appeared perplexed by her employer's behavior. She had hesitated a moment at the tent's opening, and for an instant, Artemus thought she might be going to apologize for the general. She had not, however, hurrying when Loveless called her name.

A horse whinnied off in the distance, likely one of the cavalry mounts being held in the corral at the far edge of the encampment. General Stuart was camped over there somewhere, and would leave at dawn to resume his duties scouting the area for Union troops. Sentries would be paying attention out there, checking whether something or someone disturbed the beast. Right now, Colonel Artemus Gordon's full attention was on the Yankee spy. He wished it was not.

He had met Yankee prisoners previously. Spies, deserters, men simply cut off from their regiments, or captured in battle. Artemus could not remember one who disturbed him as much as James West did. _Not "disturbed."_ He shook his head slightly, feeling a sense of frustration. He was unsure just what it was that West caused within him. In one sense, pity. Compassion. He knew that the unwelcome sensations had also caused him to react rather strongly, perhaps more strongly than he might otherwise would have, twice striking West. Colonel Gordon knew what his job was. In particular, in this instance, he had specific orders. He could not remember ever before experiencing regret for what he was going to have to do.

__

Why do I feel drawn to this young man? My orders are to extract information from him by whatever means necessary. I should not have any compunctions. I have instructions from the commanding general himself. James West was the enemy. A part of the force that wanted to destroy life as Artemus Gordon had always known and loved. Already, a great portion of that life had been disrupted. The mere presence of Union troops on Southern soil had caused hundreds, if not thousands, of slaves to emancipate themselves.

Artemus Gordon had long had ambivalent opinions on the subject of slavery. He was quite aware that the economy of the South, indeed, the lifestyle to which he was accustomed, was due to the presence of the black folks on his family's plantation. They did the farming, took care of the home, and when he had been a boy, took care of him. At the same time, he wondered about the morality, if not the legality, of "owning" another human being, despite that he knew that many people did not look upon the Negroes as humans.

He suddenly remembered a rainy autumn day when he had been about ten, spending some time in the kitchen watching the cook, Auntie Betts, preparing his favorite gingerbread, anticipating the aroma of the spicy concoction that would soon emanate from the big oven. Betts and one of the housemaids, Lucy, had been talking and laughing. Artemus had witnessed the warmth between them before, and this time, when Lucy went off to attend chores, he had asked a question.

"How come you and Lucy are such good friends, Auntie Betts? She's not your kin." In his extended family, he had witnessed such concord only among blood kin.

"Why, on account of our souls are sisters, young Artemus. We knowed each other back in Africa."

Artemus had scoffed. "You were born here in Georgia! And Lucy is from Alabama!"

Betts had chuckled as she scraped the batter into a pan and handed the wooden spoon to the boy to lick. "I said _soul_ sisters. Our souls have been friends forever. You don't have no friend like that? Someone you just know is a friend, maybe even when you don't even know his name?"

The boy had been baffled. "Naw. Course not! That's silliness, Auntie Betts."

"No, t'ain't silly, Master Artemus. It's the truth. Me and Lucy, we knowed each other all through all our lives. And I expect we'll be friends for all eternity, no matter where we get borned next."

Was that possible? _Is that why I have such conflicting emotions when it comes to obeying my orders to torture and ultimately execute this Yankee spy?_ Had James West been a friend of his in another lifetime?

__

Nonsense. Pure nonsense. Perhaps the war itself was getting to him. He had been away from Georgia for over two years now. The letters from home were unsettling, full of the travails and woes of his family. His mother begged him to come home and take care of things now that his father was gone. He needed to write to her again, to offer encouragement and to try to explain where his duty lay.

Out on the pole, Gordon saw the prisoner move, perhaps attempting to improve his position, something that was likely not possible. James West's arms and shoulders had to be aching

Artemus Gordon spun away from the opening. Perhaps that was it. With this treatment of James West, they were going against the rules of war. The rules of civilized war. He almost laughed aloud. _Civilized war?_ _Was there such a thing?_ He had seen so much blood and pain and death these two years. General Loveless promised it would be over soon, but the Yankees were a stubborn lot. For that matter, West was a good example of their hardheadedness. Why should it be any skin off West's nose if he revealed some information?

Gordon knew the answer to that. He himself would be appalled if a Confederate soldier, taken as prisoner by the Union forces, would divulge such data to the blue army. A prisoner, spy or not, was not required by any rules to pass on any such information. Some did, in return for better treatment, or perhaps simply because they were tired of the war. By being caught in civilian garb rather than his uniform, West was fair game for execution.

__

The torture is what I don't like. I'll do it, because I'll obey orders. But not because West is a Union spy. One could almost believe that General Loveless has some reason beyond the politics of war to despise James West. How could that be?

He, like every other believer in the Southern Cause, owed General Miguelito Loveless a huge debt. Almost single-handedly, the general had led the armies inexorably closer to victory over the larger, better equipped Union forces. Sometimes he appeared to be prescient, to know what the Union generals were going to do even before those generals in blue were aware themselves.

What was it West had said? _"Dr._ _Miguelito Loveless in a previous life."_ How could West have any knowledge of what profession the general had held in a previous life–if indeed such a thing existed? Further conversation with Auntie Betts on the subject had revealed that the slave believed her previous life had been spent in Africa, and as a warrior in some tribe. A man! Artemus recalled how hard he had laughed upon hearing this.

West, however, was saying that the general bore the same name in this prior incarnation, in a different profession. Gordon frowned, recalling that the general had admitted to being a physician. That was not what he had heard previously about the brilliant general's early life. Miguelito Loveless had been the highest scoring cadet in West Point history, had nearly single-handedly won the war with Mexico, and helped keep the Indian problems at a minimum with his great ability to not only wage battles but his diplomacy. The South had been extremely fortunate that Loveless opted to cast his fortunes with their side.

Gordon threw himself down on his narrow cot, not bothering to remove any of his clothing, nor his boots. He experienced anger, and was unsure to whom it was directed. The prisoner? General Loveless? Or himself for harboring any doubts. He was a loyal southerner, a member of the Confederate army. An officer. He was bound not only to follow orders, but to carry them out in a manner that would benefit the Confederacy. Extracting information that the general needed was part and parcel. He would push all these doubts to the background. James West would soon be dead anyway. A deserved death.

__

I have to believe that.

WWWWWW

Jim West saw the soldier to whom he had spoken the previous evening among the guard that escorted him away from the pole in the morning, but Johnson made no attempt to speak. In fact, he appeared to be avoiding even looking at the prisoner. Jim was unsure what that signified.

His legs had been unable to support his weight and he stumbled to his hands and knees when the shackles had been freed from the pole. He had tried moving his legs and feet during the night, but that also meant putting _all_ his weight on his arms, which were both sore and numb. The numbness had been caused just as much by the chilly temperatures as by the circulation problems.

Hands had jerked him to his feet as Jim concentrated hard on staying erect. He was hungry and thirsty as well, which may have been the cause for the bit of lightheadedness he was experiencing. Somehow he doubted he was going to be served a breakfast of ham and eggs even if such had been available in the camp's commissary.

He had not been certain where he would be taken, but quickly realized they were escorting him away from Colonel Gordon's tent. He saw Gordon standing in front of his tent, arms folded on his chest. He did not look particularly pleased with whatever was going on. Earlier Jim had noticed a young soldier calling on the colonel's tent, perhaps delivering a message.

Jim's second guess would have been Loveless's quarters, but he was wrong there as well. The destination was the stockade, where he was marched inside his previous cell, and the door slammed shut. _At least it's reasonably warm_, he sighed, settling onto the bench. All he needed was a good hot cup of coffee. _But now what?_

He did not have to wait long. Probably not more than fifteen minutes elapsed before voices sounded outside, the bar lifted off the door, and it opened. The great general himself entered, and the door was closed, though Jim did not hear the bar being replaced.

"Don't bother to rise, captain. I know you had a difficult night."

"I wasn't planning to budge, doctor. What brings you out so early?" Though still cold, the tremors he had been experiencing were all but ended. Feeling was coming back to his tingling legs and arms.

"I thought you and I should have a pleasant conversation before Colonel Gordon takes over." Loveless faced him, hands behind his back. "Perhaps you want to talk about the legendary Confederate treasure."

"Sorry, doctor. I'm not thinking very clearly this morning without my coffee. What treasure was that?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, West. You said you would tell me why you believe you know where that treasure was secreted. What tale did Benjamin Washington tell you?"

Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and spoke quietly. "That he had been part of the group that buried that treasure, the gold, silver, and bonds. He was a servant in the home of one of the members of Davis's cabinet, and had been brought along on the flight from Richmond. Davis believed that Stoneman's cavalry was about to swoop down on them at one point during the flight. As you likely know, Jefferson Davis had plans to continue the fight at that time.

"When they realized that the treasure could be confiscated, and thus lost to any future dreams the South might have, Davis and his party decided to bury it. Of course, the cabinet members and the senior officers were not going to do the digging and burying, so Washington was assigned to accompany a major and two corporals to do the digging.

"They buried the chest, and were heading back to the others when they realized that the Union cavalry had indeed caught up to the fugitives. Not wishing to be captured, the soldiers turned around, taking Ben with them. They ran into another Union patrol, the three military men were killed. Ben escaped, primarily because the Yanks were not interested in him. Thus Ben Washington became the only living man who knew exactly where the trove was buried."

Loveless gazed at him, frowning. "Why didn't he go back to get it?"

Jim laughed softly. "What do you think would have happened to a former slave who showed up with that kind of treasure? Ben's hope was to retrieve it some day to use to build schools for his people, but the opportunity never arose. He emigrated to Texas to start a new life, never forgetting the buried trove, but unable to go back for it."

"And he told you about it?"

"Me and Artemus Gordon. Artemus was working in Dallas, and I was in the area. His show had just closed so he had time off. We decided to do some hunting, primarily just to spend time together. Not far from Plano, we came upon a colored man, badly injured. He had been driving a freight wagon, and when a wheel came loose, tried to fix it. The wheel broke, the wagon collapsed on him.

"We did what we could for him, but he was too badly hurt. Ben realized this, and also knew that if he died, the secret of the treasure's location would be lost. So he told us his story, and made us promise to carry out his dream."

"But you didn't!" Loveless pointed an accusing finger. "You plan to keep it all for yourself!"

"That's the way _you_ would think," Jim replied scornfully. "Fact is, we were in almost the same boat as Ben. If we suddenly acquired such a fortune, we would be suspected of who knows? Complicity with one of your schemes!"

Loveless sniffed. "Well, I don't see why that would be an insult to you."

"In any case, we decided to wait, even if we had to wait until we retired from the Service. It's something that's always in the back of our minds. We talk about it from time to time, how to administer the funds once we do dig it up."

"Tell me where it is and I'll send you back to your own time, safe and alive."

"With Artemus."

The diminutive erstwhile general scowled. "I can't do that. He's part of my plan here."

"You don't believe me that I cannot give you all the information."

"No, I don't!" Loveless waved his cane in a menacing manner.

"It's the truth, though. Ben was cagey, even while dying. He sent me out of earshot, talked to Artemus awhile, then we switched places. Ben gave each of us certain information. That information has to be blended together for it to make any sense, to reveal the location of the treasure. We've never exchanged what we were told. I could tell you everything I know, but it would not do you one bit of good. You have to have Artemus Gordon's portion. The Artemus Gordon who had that information is gone."

"I don't believe you! I don't believe you, West!" Loveless stomped his foot.

"I can't help that. It's the truth. I'll be glad to give you my half of the instructions. But it won't do you one damn bit of good without Artie's."

"Why would you be willing to part with this information? Why would Gordon?"

"Isn't that obvious? I want to get back to my own time. Alive. And I want my partner with me."

"I still don't believe you. It's a trick."

"Have it your way." Jim leaned back against the wall.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Loveless purred then. "Your dear friend Artemus Gordon will be the one to persuade you to divulge the information about the treasure. I'll go back to 1873, retrieve it, and bring it here. I'll have it, and I'll have my kingdom."

"Something wrong with that, doctor. I'm not wise enough to figure it out, but I know there's something wrong."

"What do you mean?" Loveless snapped.

"I'll leave that to you to decipher. But how can you bring a treasure that does not exist, that will never exist, back from a time that won't exist?"

Loveless eyes were filled with ice and hatred toward the man who appeared to be besting him again. "Have you heard of buck-and-gag, captain?"

"I'm afraid I have." Jim West tried to remain emotionless on the outside.

"I'm going to recommend that little treatment for you to Colonel Gordon. An hour or two might loosen your tongue."

"I've already told you, doctor. I'll tell you my story. It would then be up to you to get the rest from Artie."

"Bah!"

Loveless rapped on the door with his cane and it was opened for him a moment later, then closed behind him. Jim West sat still, waiting. The next time the door opened, undoubtedly he would be taken to the colonel.

__

How can I get through to Artie? Loveless has does one hell of a job on him. Artie doesn't know me from Adam or Eve or anyone else. I'm simply a Union spy. And damn it, how long can I endure the buck-and-gag?

He had known the punishment to be used on enlisted men, deserters, stragglers, or for insubordination for the most part. The treatment was generally considered more a method of punishment rather than a torture in the military, but that was what it was, pure torture. Tied up, basically, into a tight ball, unable to move. Jim West had been numb and sore after hanging from the pole all night, but the buck-and-gag was apparently a hundred times worse.

Their only chance out of this nightmare was to convince Loveless that he had to take both of them back to the future, back to the 1873 all three of them had been living in. Once there, Jim West was willing to take his chances in defeating Loveless. They had done it before. With Artie back to normal, they could do it again, together.

When the cell door opened a short while later, Jim West waited tensely, knowing this was going to be the onset of the torture session. He was amazed when Nate Johnson stepped inside, bearing a tin cup.

"I'm taking a big chance here," the soldier said, handing the cup over. "I convinced the sergeant you'd be in better shape for whatever the colonel and general have in store if'n you was refreshed a bit."

Jim guzzled the water, then exhaled. "Thank you, Johnson." He waited.

Johnson cleared his throat. "I took a stroll late last night. And well, I seen the general leave his tent, just like you said he might."

"You followed him?"

"Well, hell, I had to! Couldn't figure out how you knew he'd be going out. I still don't believe what I saw. I don't even _know_ what I saw!"

"Tell me. Quickly, before it's noticed how much time you are spending in here."

"The general went to those thick woods about a half mile east of here. Real amazing how a little fellow like that can move fast when he sets his mind to it. Anyway, I followed, staying well back, like you said. I seen him go to a kind of clearing, and for a minute, I thought I saw a big metal box there. A box big enough to hold a man, or more. Then all of a sudden, there was this flash of light, and the general and the box was gone. I was just thinking that maybe I was still in my blanket roll, dreaming this, when bam! There's the flash of light, the big box is there, and General Loveless, he comes out of it. Practically runs all the way back to his tent."

"You know where this box is?"

"Yeah. But I didn't spend no time there. I'm just well, I don't believe in ghosts, captain. Never saw a haunt. But that box the light I know it disappeared. Maybe for only thirty seconds, maybe not even that long, but it was gone. Even in the dark, I could see it was gone."

"I believe you, Johnson. And I thank you. I suggest you keep this to yourself."

"Don't you worry none about that! I don't want to be hauled off to the crazy house! Captain?"

"Yes?"

"I sure don't know what's going on here. I got a feeling you do."

"Only partially. Don't worry about it. Things will be set right. I promise you."

Johnson shook his head. "Can't see how you can be so sure. They're coming for you right soon. I heard the colonel has some special plans for you. I knew a fellow who got the buck-and-gag once. He was never able to walk right again. I wish you luck."

"Thank you. I have a feeling I'm going to need it. Get out of here before you get into big trouble."

__

Well, Jim West sighed as the door closed behind the Rebel soldier, _I know where the device is. For all the good that does at this moment. _In the first place, he could not get to it. Additionally, even if he could, he would not know how to use it. Artemus might. Depending on whether he had been conscious at the time Loveless transported him to wherever in the past he had been taken to create this new persona. No. They would need Miguelito Loveless with him.

__

Somehow, Loveless needs to be convinced that he has to take us both back to 1873 with him. It's up to me to convince him. Damn! I could sure use Artie's help here.

WWWWWW

Colonel Artemus Gordon stood stiffly, watching as the prisoner was bound. First the shackles were removed, and his wrists lashed together. Then his ankles, after which West was forced into a sitting position, knees drawn up to his chest. A strong rod was then passed under his knees, over his arms at the elbow, thereby preventing his legs to straighten, nor his back. A rough stick was forced into his mouth, held secure by rawhide strips that were tied together behind his head.

All the while this was accomplished, Captain West's eyes had been fastened on the colonel's face. Artemus found himself unable to meet that gaze. He hated this. He hated this more than anything he had ever done in his entire life, and he did not know why. As an officer, he had been required to administer discipline in all forms, and the buck-and-gag was no stranger to him. Perhaps that was part of it. He was aware of the agony the young captain would soon be experiencing in his cramped limbs.

General Loveless, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying the situation immensely. He stood in the doorway of the guardhouse cell, a small silhouette, hands clasped behind him, grinning widely. He had participated in the preliminary questioning, and again asked questions that Colonel Gordon did not understand. When he himself had posed a query regarding the relevance of the demands, Loveless had waved him off.

"There are some confidential matters of which you are not aware, colonel. Matters of extreme importance to national security. Captain West understands."

Even more confusing, West had looked directly at the colonel. "The doctor wants to know the location of Jeff Davis's treasure trove, Artie." Loveless had tut-tutted the comment, saying that the Yankee was trying to cause trouble.

One certainly had to admire the valor of this young Yankee. He knew what he was facing, and did not flinch. He had continued to insist that he could not give any information about Union strategies or deployments because he did not know what they were. West made a very odd comment there too: "If you had asked me ten years ago, the answer might have been different. Or is that _actually_ ten years ago, doctor? It gets rather confusing."

That had been when Loveless ordered the buck-and-gag to be administered. Gordon had attempted to intervene, ceasing his protests when he received a glare from the general. He did not want to get on the general's bad side. All promotions went through General Loveless, although confirmation by the Confederate legislature and President Davis were also required. The rank meant a great deal to Artemus Gordon. All through his military career, he had done whatever it took to gain promotion, though he prided himself on never having resorted to the underhanded tactics he knew occurred in some instances. Above all, he had obeyed orders promptly, and without question. That was becoming very difficult in this situation.

"Come along, Colonel Gordon," Loveless said from the doorway. "Mr. West Captain West needs some time alone to reflect on his sins. Someone will look in on you in awhile, captain. All you need to do is nod your head when you are ready to reveal what you know."

That was another thing, Gordon reflected as he stepped outside. West continually addressed the general as "Dr. Loveless," and several times the general either addressed or referred to the prisoner as "Mr. West," usually correcting himself to use the Yankee's military title. One would believe they actually had known each other elsewhere. But that was impossible.

Miss Evans was waiting outside the stockade, and Artemus Gordon quickly suggested that she and the general come to his tent for a glass of wine. He could use the distraction of a pretty face and some light conversation about now. He thought that the young woman was going to accept, but the general briskly stated he had some correspondence to attend to, which meant his secretary's services were needed.

So the colonel went on alone to his own quarters, summoning Captain Pike to join him. The junior officer paused inside the tent. "I presume the Yankee spy has been made comfortable, colonel."

"Very," Gordon snapped. "Tell me, had you ever met him?"

Pike shook his head. "No, sir. Never saw him before he was brought into camp. Why should you ask that, if I may inquire?"

"Because Captain West asked me to give you his regards."

The captain's mouth dropped open. "Sir, I have no idea why he would do that."

Gordon discerned that Pike was experiencing fear that he might be labeled as a conspirator. "Never mind, captain. It's not important. West I sometimes think he may not be right in the head."

"Well, we all know that anyone who supports the Union cause can't be too bright, eh, Colonel?" Pike chuckled, relieved.

The quip passed over Gordon's head. He was not looking to be amused just now. He needed to talk to someone. In the past, Pike had proven to be a good listening post. "Pike, there's something I just don't understand what's going on."

"Sir?"

"It's West and the general. I could swear they have a previous acquaintance, yet the general denies it, and I have to believe him. He has nothing in common with West."

"He does seem to despise this spy far more than any other Yankee," Pike offered.

"I noticed that as well. Again, it's almost as though they have a past history. And West he makes the oddest remarks. Today he was talking about Jefferson Davis's treasure and it angered the general."

"Treasure? What treasure would that be? The Confederate Treasury in Richmond?"

"I don't know," Gordon sighed, sinking into the wooden chair. "I just don't know. And I'm afraid that West is going to keep his silence and I'm going to have to hang him."

Pike frowned. "Sir? You seem reluctant."

"I am, captain. I am. And don't ask me to explain. He's a Yankee, an officer captured out of uniform. All the rules say I am allowed, indeed required, to execute him. But I don't know." Gordon jumped back to his feet, paced around the test. "I don't know, Pike. I simply don't know why this man is getting under my skin the way he is."

"Well, he's young. According to his reputation, he's quite daring and audacious. Something we would surely admire if he was using his talents for our cause."

"Yes. Certainly. What I would like to know is how General Loveless knew he would be where he was. He directed the cavalry patrol to the exact site where West would be found."

"Our own intelligence"

"I know we have excellent spies of our own. But _how_ could he have known that West would be in that particular grove of trees at a particular day and time? From what Sergeant Grove reported, West gave himself away. That does not sound like a man of his reputation."

"Even the best make mistakes, sir. Begging your pardon, Colonel Gordon, but it seems to me you are wasting sympathy. This man would have tried to destroy everything we believe in if he had a chance."

"I know. Thank you, captain. I'm just perhaps this war is getting to me."

"Yes, sir. It has been going on for a long time. But General Loveless assures us that not much longer. We have to have faith in him. He has not steered us wrong thus far."

"True enough. Thank you. That will be all."

WWWWWW

James West had been in some situations in the past where he experienced pain and discomfort, but he knew none had been as bad as this. The ropes and in particular the rod were confining his body into an unnatural position. His muscles and sinews screamed for release. He could wiggle his hands and move his feet some, but that was about all. Even if he still possessed some of his hidden weapons, they would be useless because he would not be able to reach them.

__

I don't know how much I can take. More than the pain was the apparent hopelessness of the situation. He had defeated Loveless in the past, but in every other instance, he had had Artemus Gordon on _his_ side, not working with Loveless. Although Jim knew he had seen some confusion in Gordon's expression, he noticed no indication that the now Confederate colonel was going to make any move to help him.

__

Face it, Jim, Loveless may have finally won out and you are helpless to stop him. _No_. _No!_ _I've never been one to give up. As long as I'm breathing they'll be releasing me eventually, if only to lead me to the gallows. I've got to watch for my chance, whether it's grabbing a weapon or convincing Artie–or even Private Johnson–that all is not right with their world._

One very real problem would be his condition once he was released from the buck-and-gag position. James West had seen other men experience seemingly as much agony upon "relief" from the cramped position as they had during. The muscles needed time to readjust to freedom of movement, for the blood to flow freely again. Johnson had mentioned a man crippled for life. If he was cut loose here and immediately dragged to face the noose

Jim West had no idea how much time elapsed when he heard a stirring at the closed door. He knew he had fallen unconscious for at least awhile. The light peeking in through the small window gave him no clue as to the time of day. The condition of his body seemed unchanged–he was in agony.

His visitor was a great surprise to him. Colonel Artemus Gordon stepped inside, quickly pushing the door closed behind him. He stood for a long moment, simply gazing at the trussed-up man on the floor. Jim West stared back, trying to read something, anything, in Gordon's expression. For a long moment, he saw nothing.

Then Gordon bent down and untied the knot that secured the wooden gag in Jim's mouth. Jim tried to speak, but his mouth was dry as dust, and only a croak emerged. Again the colonel looked at him a long moment, finally turned and left the cell.

Jim was trying to work up some saliva to moisten his mouth when the door opened once more. Gordon returned, this time carrying a tin cup. He dropped to one knee, placing a hand behind Jim's head as he held the cup to the prisoner's mouth. Jim drank greedily, and heaved a great sign when the cup was pulled back.

"Artie thank you"

Artemus Gordon put the now empty cup aside and sat down on the bare wooden bench, leaning forward, elbows on knees, to stare at the man on the floor. "Why? Why do you insist on calling me that? No one except my family and childhood friends use that name."

Jim tried to gather his thoughts, to push aside the agony his body was still experiencing. This might be his last chance, the only chance. He had to make Artie understand. "Artie we have been friends for years we served on Grant's staff together"

"Grant! Are you mad? Are you speaking of the Union general?" Gordon straightened, keeping his brown eyes fastened on the prisoner's green ones. Eyes did not lie. Few men could keep all their emotions out of their eyes completely. They might try, but something usually crept through. Especially a man in a situation such as West was in.

"Yes Ulysses S. Grant. Listen to me I know it sounds insane. If I did not had not had experience with Loveless in the past, I know I wouldn't believe it. It's harder for you. He's he's changed everything. You are my best friend, Artemus. I I love you like a brother. You've saved my life more times than I can count." Talking made it hard to keep still, and every movement created pain.

"And you've saved mine." Gordon did not pose it as a question. He knew, without doubt, the answer. Yet how could that be? "In this life?"

"This life?" Jim was confused.

Again the colonel leaned forward. "I've been told that some people believe that souls are passed along, from one life to another, and that those souls who were friends in one life remain so in all all incarnations."

"I've heard that," Jim agreed.

"One part of me knows as a fact that you and I have never met. Yet I also feel as though I I don't understand it, Captain, and I don't like it. I feel as though somehow I am behaving traitorously by even talking to you like this."

"Why why are you here?"

Gordon got to his feet, walked toward the closed door, halted and turned back. "I don't know. I'm doing my duty, following orders, by by doing this to you. General Loveless insists you have important information that must be obtained before we execute you. I just I don't know, captain. _I just don't know why I'm here!_ All I know is that for the first time in my military career, perhaps for the first time in my life, I feel as though I have no idea who I am or even _where_ I am."

"Artie listen to me. Loveless is a genius. He has created any number of insane inventions in his quest to conquer to world. He doesn't care who he hurts in the process. He once threatened to kill every person on earth, men, women, and children, in order to gain his way. Another time he was willing to set off an explosion that would have killed thousands of people in a city. You and I stopped him. That's why he hates both of us."

The colonel stared down at the man on the floor. "He doesn't hate me."

"Yes, he does," Jim persisted, continuing to force himself to ignore the pain he was experiencing. This might be his last and only chance. He did not know for certain what had persuaded Artie to come, but he had to take advantage of it. "He hates you, Artie, and he's getting his vengeance by forcing you to be something you never would have been in in our own time. You hated everything the South stood for, especially the breaking up of the Union. Now, he has you leading the fight for that breakup, and as well, he plans to take you along when he creates his own western empire, something else you would have despised."

"West, you are insane." Artemus Gordon realize his protest did not come out as strongly as he intended. His voice was actually rather mild, and probably reflected the misgivings he was experiencing.

"I'm going to take a chance with you, Artie, because I have to believe deep down you are the man you always were. You spoke of souls. I cannot accept that Loveless could have changed the soul of the man I knew. I believe that you will give me your word, and honor that word."

Now Gordon dropped down to his haunches. "What do you want me to give my word about?"

"There's a soldier here who knows a little more than maybe he should. He listened to my tale and went to do some investigating. He saw something."

"What? Who?"

"I need your word, Artie, that you will do nothing to persecute or prosecute this man once you talk to him."

Gordon hesitated only an instant. For his own sanity, this needed to be cleared up and put behind him. "You have my word, Captain West. I will speak to him, hear his story, and that will be that. It will go no farther, so far as I'm concerned."

__

I hope it will go farther. Jim nodded. "His name is Nate Johnson. Tell him I told you it was all right to tell you about the box he saw in the woods."

"The box?"

"The box. I want him to relate it in his own words, Artie. I think you'll be more willing and able to accept it that way. Find him. Make sure no one else overhears what is being said. In fact, if you can get him somewhere out of sight to talk to him, that would be better too."

The colonel slowly got to his feet again, keeping his eyes fastened on the green ones that were staring so pleadingly at him. "West, God help you if you're lying."

"You know I'm not, Artie. _You know I'm not."_

Artemus Gordon replaced the wood gag in the prisoner's mouth and without further comment, departed. Jim West closed his eyes. _I don't know what else I can do. It's up to Artie now. I only pray to God that I'm right, that his true soul is still inside there. Our only hope. Artie's soul is our only hope._

The next visitor to the guardhouse was no real surprise, though Jim was concerned that Loveless appeared so soon after Artie's departure. Had the "general" witnessed the colonel's visit and come to see what had transpired? However, Jim's mind was quickly put at ease by Loveless's behavior.

The small man strutted around the small cell, pausing to observe the bound man from different angles, grinning widely, especially when he poked Jim West with his cane, eliciting grunts of pain. "I trust you are satisfied with your accommodations, Mr. West," he smirked finally. "Comfortable?" When James West merely glared at him, Loveless chuckled. "Oh, I forgot. You are not in a position to respond, are you? There. Is that better?" As had Gordon, he undid the gag.

Jim remembered that his mouth should be very, very dry, although it was not nearly so bad as it had been prior to Artie's visit. His licked his lips and coughed a little. "The maid forgot to turn down the bed," he said finally.

"Dear me!" Loveless giggled. "I shall speak to her forthwith." His face became sobered as he leaned on the cane. "Are you ready to tell me the truth about the Confederate treasure?"

"You already have the truth, doctor. There's little more I can tell you, beyond the actual directions Ben gave, which won't do you one damn bit of good. They don't make any sense, without Artemus's information. The next step is up to you."

Loveless put both hands on the top of the cane, leaning down toward Jim. "You're lying, West. I can always tell when you're lying."

"Can you? Do my ears flap or my skin turn purple?"

The dwarf straightened, and used his foot to push the captive completely over, from the side that Jim was laying on, to the other. Jim West could not contain the cry of agony as fire shot through his body. He heard Loveless laugh aloud, and then the foot kicked his own booted feet, causing even more arrows of pain. Jim felt the perspiration rolling off his own face. Loveless walked around to face him.

"I have no plans for the afternoon, Mr. West. I can use you as a foot ball for hours and hours. I know your body is in extreme pain after a couple of hours in this position. It's only going to get worse as the flow of blood continues to be cut off to your extremities, to your muscles. All you have to do is tell me the truth. I'll have the bonds removed and a nice hot bath prepared for you. Just what your screaming body will need. I'm sure you are aware that the torment will continue once you are untied."

"I have told you the truth," Jim gritted. "The only way you are going to obtain Jeff Davis's treasure is to take us back to 1873. The real 1873."

"Can't be done. Not yet." Loveless rubbed his powerful jaw thoughtfully. "In a few weeks, I'm going to take the Confederate army north. We'll meet the Yankee army in a little Pennsylvania town called Gettysburg. You've heard of it? Only this time, the only ones who'll be surprised, the only ones who will make strategic and tactical mistakes, will be Meade and Hancock and Chamberlain and The battle will be over in short order. This time I'll have General Jackson at my side."

"Jackson! He was!" Jim stopped, realizing immediately what Loveless had done. However, as usual, Loveless's ego required the tale to be told.

"Stonewall Jackson is alive." The doctor strutted back and forth as he spoke. "I made sure the terrible mistake that was made at Chancellorsville did not occur. If Lee had had Jackson at Gettysburg well, I will have him. Jackson, Longstreet, and Stuart. Oh yes. I will rectify that error as well. Jeb Stuart will be at Gettysburg with me. Everything will be perfect for a glorious Southern victory. The north will capitulate. And then yes, I think that will be fine. Be assured, Mr. West, that you will hang eventually. But not yet. I need to carry my plan to fruition first. _Then_ you and I and Mr. Gordon will make a quick trip back to where we came from in order that I might acquire that little fortune."

"You cannot be convinced that your vision of the future' could be quite erroneous."

"I do not make errors," Loveless sniffed. "You are the one making all the mistakes. You'll tell me the truth eventually. Perhaps even after a few more hours in the buck-and-gag. You are human, James West. Your body can only endure so much pain. I'll have men check in on your periodically. Just let them know when you are ready to end the agony."

The gag was replaced, then the door closed behind Loveless. Jim West closed his eyes and willed his body to relax, but immediately discovered that even that slight movement of his muscles caused lightning bolts of pain to course through his body. He could not stifle the groans. _Loveless is right. How much more can a human body stand?_

But what could he tell Loveless that would persuade him to free him? The diminutive man did not believe his story about the treasure, or at least the portion about Artie's share of the information was needed. Jim knew he could relate some directions, but he doubted Loveless would accept it as the only part he possessed.

Artemus bringing up the subject of "old souls" was interesting, and also gave Jim hope. This Artemus Gordon was having doubts. That was all Jim could ask for at this time. Enough reservations that Gordon would listen to Nate Johnson's story, and have even further misgivings about Loveless and what was going on here. It was a lot to ask. Jim West was quite aware that if he was in the colonel's place, or if someone had come to him in 1873–the real 1873–and told him a similar story, he would be disbelieving.

The connection of their souls appeared to be the only hope. Jim considered that for a moment. He knew that he and Artemus Gordon had connected almost the first instant they met, even with their differences in their backgrounds. Jim recalled that when he heard Gordon had been an actor, he had wondered if the older man could be an efficient soldier. He quickly learned that most assuredly was the case, and more. Artemus was the most courageous, as well as the most intuitive, soldier he ever knew, not to mention inventive. He always came up with an idea that worked in tight scrapes. They worked well together to boot.

__

Was that because we were connected in previous lifetimes? Jim had heard of the theories of resurrection, knew of the religions that espoused the belief that souls moved from one birth to another, living a life until perfection was attained, whereupon the soul could then finally ascend to some sort of heaven. _I think Artie and I have a long ways to go_, he thought wryly.

"Captain, captain."

Jim opened his eyes to look up into the craggy face of Nate Johnson. He realized he must have fallen unconscious, for he had not heard the soldier enter. Johnson carefully removed the gag.

"I'm going to cut you loose, captain," Johnson said softly, producing a knife. "I know it's going to hurt like hell, so I wanted you to be ready."

"What?" Jim was baffled. He could see that the light in the high window was fading somewhat, but the sun was still shining.

"Colonel's orders, sir. I don't know exactly why, but he said I was to cut you loose, and then he gave orders that no one, not even the general, was to come in. That'll give you a chance to get rid of the kinks, so to speak." Johnson reached for the rod that was confining Jim's limbs.

"Wait." Jim knew that once his body was free to move, he might not be in shape to talk for awhile. "How can he stop Loveless?"

"I got a new lock to put on the door. Only the colonel will have the key. He said he'll take responsibility."

"So he heard your story and believed you."

"I ain't sure if he believed me, but it sure raised his curiosity. Said to tell you he'll come talk to you late tonight, that you should just sit tight. He wants to see that box."

"So do I." _But it won't do us one damn bit of good if Loveless is not with us to operate the thing!_ "Go ahead."

James West had thought he was ready. Pure fire shot through his veins, through his limbs, as first the rod and then the ropes were cut away. His hands had started to swell, so that the binding around his wrists was particularly tight. He lay on the floor, panting, groaning, feeling the sweat pouring out of every pore in his body. He tried to control the convulsive sobs of agony, for the movement only magnified his anguish.

"Next time I come," Johnson said quietly, "I'll bring you some water." And he left.

In one sense, that was a relief, because Jim West no longer felt he needed to try to suppress his own reactions to the pain he was experiencing. He lay on the floor, breathing heavily, and as time elapsed, attempted to move each extremity a little more every few minutes. An eternity later, he was able to climb up onto the bunk, though his body was still throbbing. He was very thirsty, but the thirst seemed minor compared to the pain he had experienced.

Next he would need to move about the room, in order to regain full function of his body. He wondered how long the pain would continue. The hot bath Loveless had promised would sure as hell look good right now. A long soaking bath, a good massage. But neither of those would be forthcoming. Recovery was going to be up to him. He was grateful beyond thought that he had been freed.

__

But now what?

The possibility remained that the whole thing was some sort of trick. Loveless might even be involved. Nonetheless, Jim knew he had to go along with it. He had to get out of this cell, talk to Artie further. Maybe Johnson too. Odd that that ordinary soldier was so willing to believe. He had mentioned his grandma's powers of "second sight." Had that enabled him to be more open-minded? Still and all, a time machine–or whatever it was–was far beyond the ken of 1873, let alone 1863. What powers had Loveless tapped into? Anything similar to what Vautrain had used? Had Loveless been able to put into a machine the powers that Vautrain had developed in his mind? Or vice-versa?

Johnson returned as promised with a cup of water, apologizing that he could not bring any food. "Had enough problems hiding this here cup." So concentrated was he on recovering from his ordeal and loosening his muscles and limbs, Jim had barely noticed the darkening room.

"I don't think I could eat anyway. My stomach is tied in knots. Johnson, why are you believing me?"

In the deepening darkness, Jim saw the soldier duck his head. "Well, I told you about my granny and her second sight. Well I got it too. I don't talk much about it. But I always knew I was in the wrong place here. I'll tell you something, if you won't laugh."

"Believe me, I won't laugh."

"Something's going to happen. I ain't gonna finish this war. Not here, anyway. I just have this this sense."

"You mean you know you're going to die in battle?" _How could a man live with such knowledge?_

"No. That's the weird part. I don't see myself being shot or anything. It's just hard to explain, Captain. It's like I just melt away. Disappear. Don't exist anymore. But it's also damn it, Captain, I don't know how to say it. I also see myself back home with my wife and kids. Growing old with them."

Jim had to smile in the darkness. "Keep those thoughts, Nate. Hang on tight to them. With any luck, in a dozen years or so, we might be able to talk about them again."

Johnson held out his hand. "I'll hold you to that, Captain West."

WWWWWW

Once again Artemus Gordon stood in the tent opening, watching the darkness fall. This time he was not staring at the prisoner bound to the pole. The pole was still there, but the captain was in the stockade, the fine building he had received specific instructions from General Loveless to erect as soon as the camp was established subsequent to the end of the last great battle. Gordon had thought it odd and wondered what kind of prisoners the general expected to have. Turned out, just one. One who was very important to General Miguelito Loveless.

__

I'm losing my mind. That's what it is. I'm going insane. Why should I believe a prisoner–a Yankee prisoner–over my own general? I have always trusted General Loveless. I had to, after the victories he brought us: Bull Run, Seven Pines, Sharpsburg and now Chancellorsville. One after another, although out-manned and usually out-gunned. The North has the materiel and the vast armies, and still do but we have the great general. Why am I planning to perform a traitorous act that could get me killed?

Artemus sighed. He knew why. That peculiar connection he felt toward the young Yankee captain with the clear green eyes and the strangest of strange stories. He knew now that he had experienced the connection the first moment he saw West being brought in. He had ignored it, fought against it, and overreacted by striking the prisoner, as if that action could cut him free from that sense of camaraderie. It had not.

Once again he had a strong hunger for one of the cigars, but again knew he had to ignore it. He was waiting for the camp to settle down for the night. Most importantly, he needed to know that the general was in his tent, and that would be the first place he checked.

Miss Evans had come to see him after supper, very concerned about her superior. General Loveless was extremely agitated, she said, and she did not know why. He paced around and muttered to himself, but nothing he said made sense. Artemus had pressed her to find out what the general said. She had shaken her head.

"Something about a lost treasure and excuse me, but this is what he said those damnable Secret Service agents.' I have no notion what he is talking about. He also spoke about taking them back' and forcing them to talk. Colonel, I am very worried that the strain of managing the entire military situation on his own is taking its toll."

That was something that had been discussed in other meetings, formal and informal, that Gordon had attended. The general had no aides, other than Miss Evans. He did not keep a cadre of officers about him to consult or ask for ideas. He gave all the orders. That they had been successful following those orders was something else that had been admirable as well as amazing, and probably prevented further questions or grumbling.

West had said that in this this other life where they had been friends, he and Artemus Gordon performed as government agents. Loveless had mentioned Secret Service agents. How could he know?

__

I am going insane. That's all there is to it. Well, if that's the case, carrying out this wild plan tonight won't make an ounce of difference. I'll either be shot as a traitor or cashiered out as incompetent. All I know is that I will never rest easy again unless I do this.

The camp quieted, as fires burned down and men rolled into their blankets. The only sounds were those of the night, an occasional wild creature calling in the woods that surrounded the area, or even the far off voice of a sentry, probably challenging the approach of another picket guard. Jeb Stuart had led his men out early today, off to do some reconnaissance for the general. Earlier today the general had chuckled and seemed especially pleased that he had forbidden Stuart to plan a massive foray into Pennsylvania on his own, similar to those he had carried out early in the war.

"I'm going to need Jeb near my side," Loveless had confided. "That mistake will not be made again."

Gordon had been baffled by the remark, but forbore to ask. On other occasions, Loveless had made similar comments then exhibited anger and even some embarrassment when questioned. As usual, his success prevented much criticism of his eccentric behavior.

Finally, and Artemus judged the hour was well after midnight, he felt it was safe to venture out. He put his own pistol in its holster, then pulled a spare out of a chest to jam into his belt under his tunic. If anyone noticed him, he was going to claim he could not sleep and was merely taking a stroll.

He thought that a couple of men noticed him as he walked by their campfires, but no one spoke. Although he was not in the habit of nighttime strolls, he was after all their commanding officer. Perhaps the direction he was taking persuaded the men he was heading for a conference with the general. In a sense, that was true.

Earlier this evening, Artemus Gordon had written a letter to his mother in Georgia, in which he tried to explain what he was doing and why. He was unsure why he was writing it, but knew he had to. In fact, it helped him straighten out his own thoughts and solidify his decision. If fate intended him to leave this life–this time and place–so be it. Times past he had occasionally felt as if he was in the wrong time and place, but never gave it much thought.

Loveless's tent was not quite dark. Gordon knew that the general slept with a small nightlight. A few men had snickered over that fact, but none dare speak aloud. At times, Loveless was almost childlike, Gordon reflected. He came near to throwing tantrums if not given his way. He loved gaudy uniforms, never appeared in public except in his dress best, laden down with every medal and honor ever awarded.

__

Funny, I have never really thought about these things. Gordon shook his head, took a deep breath, and pushed aside the flap to enter the large tent. He was quite thankful for the small oil lamp sitting on the stand next to the big bed, on which the small man seemed even smaller. Loveless snored ever so lightly.

Removing his pistol from his holster, but holding it at his side for the moment, Gordon went to the side of the bed. "General," he said softly, "wake up!"

Loveless's eyes popped open immediately. "What? Gordon! What's wrong?"

"General, we have a serious situation that needs attending. I am told that the prisoner is near death."

"What?" Miguelito Loveless sat up, peering at the man beside the bed. "Nonsense! James West is a healthy young man. Always has been. A little torture isn't going to kill him!"

"I don't know, sir. I had the doctor look at him. He thinks West developed pneumonia during the night outside."

"That's ridiculous," the general muttered, throwing his blankets back to reveal spindly legs under his nightshirt. "Why are you carrying your weapon?"

"Oh. Excuse me, sir. Old habit. The darkness makes me nervous." Artemus holstered the gun but did not fasten the securing flap.

"Well! Turn around! Turn around!"

Artemus Gordon almost laughed aloud at the display of modesty, but did as bade, keeping his hand casually near the butt of his pistol. He thought that Loveless was accepting the story of the "dying prisoner," but he also knew that the general was a very shrewd man.

Even on this occasion, Loveless was compelled to don his full uniform. Artemus heard the clink of the medals, the swish of the sash. Finally, the commander was ready, and they marched out of the tent, with Artemus deferentially suggesting that they keep as quiet as possible so as not to cause any commotion in camp. If the men saw their general out at such an hour of night, they might become concerned. Loveless concurred.

As prearranged, only Nate Johnson was on guard at the stockade. Earlier, at supper, when Loveless had mentioned that he wanted to talk to the prisoner again before returning to his tent, the colonel had dissuaded him, suggesting that being alone for a longer period of time might cause West to break sooner. Gordon also managed to make the general feel that _he_ had come up with this opinion, rather than the colonel.

"How is he, soldier?" Gordon asked as Johnson opened the padlock.

"Better, I think, colonel."

"Get a light!" Loveless snapped as the door opened to reveal the nearly pitch blackness. "I can't see a thing? Where's West?"

"I'm here," Jim said quietly from one side of the door. "Come on in, doctor."

Artemus drew the pistol again. "Johnson, go to your bed. Your work is finished here."

"Yes, sir. I think it is. Hope we meet again."

"What is going on here?" Loveless demanded. "Colonel! He's not tied up!"

Jim's eyes were much better adjusted to the darkness, and he saw Artemus Gordon withdraw a gun from under his coat to extend toward Jim West. "You sure?" Jim asked.

"I have to be."

"What's going on!" Loveless wailed again as he felt the end of the pistol pressed against the back of his neck.

"Just be quiet, doctor," Jim said. "Artie and I have nothing to lose now. You do. You start screaming, we start shooting. All we want is to go back home."

__

Home. Artemus Gordon almost protested against that word. He felt very strange, almost as though he was not inside his own skin. As though he was watching all this, rather than participating.

"You're mad," Loveless grumbled. "You can't make me!"

"We know where the box is," Jim said. "You're going to set it to take us back to our own time. And no tricks. Artie remembers what you did to set it before." Having no idea what the situation had been previously, whether Artie had even been conscious, Jim took a flyer.

Gordon kept his mouth clamped shut. Someone was insane here. He was unsure if it was himself, the general, or the Yankee. Things were out of his hands now. Matters had taken on a life of their own. He could only go along and say a little prayer.

"You're not going to get away with this, West," Loveless snapped. "I'll make sure of that."

"I thought you wanted to know about the rest of Davis's treasure. This is the only way you're going to find out."

Loveless peered up at him. "You're going to tell me?"

Jim chuckled. "Hold onto that thought. Let's go."

Jim walked ahead, with Loveless behind him, and Artemus trailing. The hope was that anyone who happened to notice would think that the general and colonel were escorting the prisoner. Jim hid his pistol under his loose shirt, but kept his hand near it. He was still sore, as well as feeling weak. He knew that stemmed partially from the torture, but also from not having had much in the way of food the last forty-eight hours or so. He hoped he was not called upon to do any sprinting.

Nate Johnson had given both of them directions to find the "box" hidden in the woods. Though several sleeping men stirred as they walked by, and one sentinel challenged them briefly, no one attempted to stop them. Colonel Gordon simply told the guard to continue his duties, nothing to worry about.

Once they got into the woods, Jim drew his pistol again, allowing the furious Loveless to see it. A half moon had finally appeared, providing a little illumination among the still sparsely leafed trees.

"Should be just a little ahead, captain," Artemus murmured, as they moved by a clump of rocks and brush that Johnson had specifically mentioned.

"Captain!" Loveless jumped on this. "So he still knows you as Captain West, eh?" He looked up at the older man. "Colonel Johnson, if you stop this right now, no charges will be filed."

__

God, how tempting that is! But could he trust the general now? More insanity. Artemus Gordon felt that he could lay his life in the hands of James West now. The more time he spent with the young man, the stronger that sense became. _I'm doing the right thing. No matter how it turns out now, I know I'm doing right. I'll always know that. I just don't know why I know!_

"There it is," Jim murmured, and full memory returned to him with the sight of the metal box gleaming in the moonlight. He remembered being carried, bound hand and foot as well as gagged, into that box by one of Loveless's men, dumped on the floor. Artie had indeed been conscious, and unbound. Loveless used Jim's helplessness against him.

"You're crazy!" Artie had protested, gazing around at the array of lights and dials as the door was closed behind them. "You're absolutely mad! This isn't going to do anything."

"But you're wrong, Mr. Gordon," Loveless had purred, starting to move some switches. "I've done some preliminary work already. We'll take you home' first. That's why Mr. West is incapacitated. I really would not wish to try to control him on my own. I'm quite aware that he can be a handful at his current age. Consider him ten years younger."

"What the devil do you mean, home'? My home is"

"I should have stated it differently. Your new home. The home that will be the basis of your new life. Say farewell to your friend Mr. West. The next time you see him, you will be planning to hang him. Watch closely, Mr. Gordon. With your fine intellect, this will be of interest to you. Who knows, one day in the future–our splendid future together–I will allow you to operate my magnificent machine."

__

Will Artie remember enough now?

"Good God almighty," Gordon exclaimed as they stepped inside the contraption. "What is this?"

"This is the machine that the doctor used to transport us into different lives, Artie. This is the machine that's going to take us all back to where we belong. Proceed, doctor. I'm watching closely. I want to go back to July 20, 1873. The same night."

Gordon caught West's gaze on him, a hard and penetrating gaze, one that was asking a question, yet also demanding something. After a moment, he thought he understood, remembering an earlier comment the captain had made. _"Artie remembers what you did to set it before."_

"Set the the settings, general," Artemus said firmly, keeping the pistol pointed at the smaller man's head. _I have no idea what I'm doing. I just know this is what Jim the captain wants me to do._

Jim watched carefully, experiencing only mild relief as he saw the date appear briefly in a small lighted window as Loveless turned this dial, flicked another switch, pressed a button. He grumbled all the while, yet at least appeared to be convinced that his life was at stake.

"You're making a huge mistake, Gordon," Loveless growled. "I was going to make you my top assistant. My heir. You would have been ruler over thousands of square miles, millions of people."

"I thank you for the honor, general, but that is not at all what I want for my future."

"Doctor," Jim said then, noticing that Loveless's preparations seemed to be coming to completion. "I think you'd better warn us what's going to happen. After all, with these pistols pointed at you, a sudden jolt might well, you understand."

Loveless grumbled under his breath, then said, "I will throw this last switch. You won't really notice anything, except perhaps a little disorientation. Perhaps you recall that from your trip in the opposite direction, Mr. West."

"You said that primarily occurred because I had been unprepared. I'm prepared this time. Artie?"

Colonel Artemus Gordon took a deep breath. "Ready as I'll ever be, Captain West."

Jim West put one hand on Miguelito Loveless's shoulder, and kept a firm grip on the pistol in the other. "Let's do it, doctor."

The flash of light was brighter than Jim West had ever experienced in his life. He was after grateful that it lasted only an instant. His vision was momentarily affected, but that was all. On the other side of Loveless, he saw Artemus Gordon blinking as well. He quickly realized that more than the light flash was causing Gordon's disorientation.

"You can't do it, doctor!" Artie cried, "I told you, it wouldn't work!" He looked around, saw Jim West opposite him, still dressed in the rough clothing Loveless had forced him to don, but now standing, not tied and gagged and with a pistol in his hand. He himself, he abruptly realized, was also holding a pistol. And his own clothes

"Jim! What in God's name happened?" How in the devil did he come to be attired in a Confederate uniform in the flash of seconds, less than seconds? _Did Loveless actually accomplish what he said he would?_

"Later, Artie," Jim said quietly, almost overwhelmed with relief. "Doctor, are your men still out there?"

"Why don't you take a look?"

The smirk on Loveless's face was all either agent needed. Artie grabbed the little man's shoulder, turning him toward the door. "We'll step out there right behind you, doctor. You'll order your men to drop their weapons. I think you know us well enough to realize we'll do what we have to do."

The smirk faded, replaced by futile rage. "You'll pay! Both of you! You'll pay." Loveless reached for the latch of the door, paused and looked up toward West. "Are you going to carry out your promise and tell me the location of Davis's treasure?"

Jim saw the utter surprise on Artie's countenance. "Dr. Loveless," Jim West smiled, "I'm surprised that you were so gullible."

Loveless's blue eyes flashed. "Are you saying there's no treasure?"

"I'm just saying you might have been foolish to believe everything I told you. Let's go now. And be very careful."

Four men had been in the laboratory when they left. Four men were still there. Jim saw the surprise on their faces. For them, perhaps only seconds had elapsed. One man went for his gun, but Loveless stopped him.

"Cease and desist, gentlemen. The experiment is over."

"Did it work?" one inquired. "Can we really go find the Queen of Sheba's gold?"

"Hell, sure it worked," another put in. "Look at Gordon. He wasn't wearing that!"

Artie looked down at himself again, still dumbfounded. A Confederate military uniform. What in the world had happened? Here in the well-lighted laboratory, he peered at his partner again. Jim looked very tired, his movements somewhat stiff, as though in pain. _I sure hope Jim has the story to tell me. I'll go crazy if not!_

Jim West faced the four men, with the small scientist just ahead of his own gun, aware of the incredible "box" just behind him. _What if what if could I rescue Cinnia? Could I prevent?_ The thought was tempting. More temptation that he had ever experienced in his entire life. A chance to alter time, to have her with him Just as the idea was passing through his head, he also heard the words he himself and Artemus had spoken in attempts to dissuade Loveless from carrying out his mad scheme. _You can't rewrite history_. Experiencing a deep inner ache that had never entirely gone away since that night, Jim straightened his weary shoulders.

"Gentleman," he said in a mild tone, "I think you're going to want to vacate the premises. The good doctor has decided that the project is a complete and abject failure. It's going to be destroyed."

"What? No, no, no!" Loveless shrieked. He stepped a few paces away, waving his arms and shrieking. "No! You mustn't! It took me years–years and years–to build this. You can't destroy it!"

"In other hands," Artie said, "this might be a great boon to mankind. But we can't chance it, doctor."

"If I know the good doctor, he has a supply of blasting materials somewhere at hand." Jim looked toward the nearest man. "Where are they?"

"I dunno."

Jim West pointed his gun straight at the man's head. "Maybe you'd like to remain inside when the blast goes off just to see how it looks."

The man's shoulders slumped. "In that cupboard over there."

Artie headed for that cupboard. It was padlocked, but a carefully placed shot took care of that. Inside, he found a couple of boxes of dynamite, complete with fuses and caps. "Everything we need, Jim."

"You can't, you can't!" Loveless wailed. He turned to face the man with the gun. "Think of it, Jim West. Wouldn't you like to go back to find out more about your father?"

Jim was startled. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The smirk returned, almost beatific, large blue eyes gleaming. "I did some experimentation with the machine, Mr. West. I traveled hither and yon throughout the centuries as I planned how best to use it to suit my purposes. On one little journey, I visited a small town in upstate New York, just about thirty years ago. I met a man named Nevin West."

Artemus Gordon had no idea what was going on, but he knew his partner was badly shaken. "Jim!"

West whirled to face the man who had charged toward him during his moment of distraction. He brought the pistol up and cracked it across the fellow's forehead. He dropped like a lead weight. One of the other three men took advantage of the diversion to head for the door. The other two decided to complete what their fallen companion had started.

"Artie!" Jim yelled, "set the charge! Watch Loveless!" He turned to meet the oncoming men. Both were wary of his gun, one diving for his legs.

Artemus Gordon instantly realized he could not obey both of his partner's exhortations, and he made a decision, knowing he would have time to consider it later. The instrument needed to be destroyed. Completing it had been a work of virtually Loveless's lifetime, gathering materials and making plans, experimenting. Chances were, much more time would be necessary to recreate it.

He had faith in his partner's ability to handle the two men, even if in a weakened state, so Artie virtually ignored what was going on behind him as he pulled out sticks of dynamite and set forth preparing them to blast. At the edge of his vision he saw the amazingly swift movement as the little doctor dashed toward the door. Could be Loveless would attempt to set a trap out there for them, but past experience suggested he would more likely choose retreat over valor, preparing to fight another day.

By the time Artemus had the charges set up around the laboratory and a long fuse attached, a panting Jim West had indeed handled the pair. Jim did not say anything about the vanished doctor as they dragged the three unconscious men outside. The laboratory was situated in a woods. Jim's first thought was that it was the same Virginia woods near Chancellorsville, but quickly saw different trees and other flora. More than likely this was north of where their train had been halted, perhaps in the Dakota Territory.

"I think I used more powder than I needed," Artemus commented as he massaged his ringing ears. Flame and debris had shot everywhere. Fortunately, he observed, rain had apparently soaked the area recently, so little chance existed of fires being ignited.

"At least it did the job," Jim said, dusting himself off. He could hear the frightened squeals of horses somewhere not too far off. "Seems we may not have to walk."

Artie looked at his partner. The exhaustion was even more apparent now. "Sit down and watch these sleeping beauties, pal. I'll go see what our transportation looks like."

"Be alert," Jim warned, more than willing to accept the behest. "The doctor may be anywhere."

He was not. As he had so many times previously, Miguelito Loveless disappeared into thin air. They did not even find evidence that he had taken one of the horses. The fourth man was also nowhere to be found, but they had no idea whether the pair were together. All James West and Artemus Gordon knew for certain was that they would encounter the strange little man somewhere sometime.

They found several saddle horses, along with the wagon that had been used to transport them from the train to the laboratory, and the team that had drawn it. Jim had no problem sitting on the wagon's seat, while his partner handled the reins. He could not believe how weary he was, and quite a bit of the pain seemed to be returning. The thought of the tub at the train was like a siren's call.

After delivering the three men to a befuddled sheriff in a nearby town, and promising to return for the prisoners later, they went on to find the train where they had left it. So far as the crew were concerned, the agents had been gone less than three hours. Regardless, all were happy to be reunited, and soon the locomotive was moving again.

Jim had his long, hot, soaking bath. Artie stayed away from him, although he himself was brimming with questions, not the least of which concerned the remark that Loveless had made in the laboratory, the one that had thrown Jim West completely off kilter. He knew he was not going to ask that question for awhile yet. He would give his partner the opportunity to broach the subject first.

But he did want to know what had happened between the time they first entered the shiny box and when he found himself attired as a Confederate colonel. At least he had been an officer. Later, however, as he listened to the story, Artemus Gordon almost wished he had not asked.

"My God, Jim. My God! I did that to you?"

Jim sipped the brandy he held as he lolled on the sofa. He felt one hundred percent–perhaps two hundred percent–better, though he knew a solid night of sleep would still work wonders. "Artie, you weren't yourself. Loveless transformed you into a Son of the South. A true Rebel. I was the enemy."

"But I can't believe" Gordon was distraught. "Jim, I'm sorry! Please believe that."

"I know you are. I think you were sorry even before we left 1863."

Artemus sighed. "Well, if you can forgive me, I guess I can forgive myself!"

"I still don't know exactly why you started to believe me. You talked about souls."

"Kindred souls?"

Jim laughed softly. "I suppose, in a manner of speaking. Something about us having been friends, or more, in another lifetime."

Artie nodded, leaning back in his chair. "I've heard of that. Wonder if there's anything to it." He frowned. "What did you tell Loveless about Davis's treasure that made him so avid?"

West laughed again, louder. "Just what he needed to hear. About poor old Ben's dreams."

"Yeah." Artie stared off into the distance. "That was awhile ago."

"Artie, we have some time due us. I'd like to take a trip down into South Carolina."

"To look for the treasure?"

"Maybe. But I want to see if I can find a fellow named Nate Johnson."

Artemus Gordon frowned. "Do I know him?"

"You did. I'll tell you more later, Artie." Jim pushed himself to his feet. "Right now, I think I want to hit the sack." He also wanted to get away from Artemus Gordon before the conversation went too much farther. He was not prepared to talk about Nevin West. Nor Matthew. Not yet.

"Good night, James. Good to be back in the right time and place."

To be continued J

** __**

Buck and Gag - A Form of tying up punishment in which a soldier was bound and gagged in a seated position with a bar placed between his arms and knees; it was usually employed for rank insubordination.

I obtained much of the information about a victim's reaction to the "buck-and-gag" punishment from Maureen Jennings' marvelous most recent "Detective William Murdoch" mystery, entitled Journeyman to Grief_. For information about military use of "buck-and-gag," visit A sketch depicting the "buck-and-gag" (and other disciplines used in the Civil War) is at Davis's lost treasure" was a legend for a long time, sought by treasure hunters for years. More recently the idea has been debunked by historians who account for whatever funds Davis took on his flight from Richmond._


End file.
